


Fall Into The Tide

by queenofkadara



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Conversations. A LOT of them, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Melancholy, Or bittersweet ending more like, Sad Ending, Slow Burn, Smut, bed sharing, on a boat!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23883052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara/pseuds/queenofkadara
Summary: Sten paused in the polishing of his sword. “I did not think to ask before. Why did you decide to join me?”Yara smiled. Everyone had asked her why she was following Sten back to Par Vollen, but her answer always remained the same.“I don’t know,” she said.He studied her intently for a moment, then went back to polishing his blade. “This is unheard of,kadan. Qunari always know their purpose.”“I know,” she said. “But I’m not qunari.”*******************Also known as: a quiet, contemplative slow burn during the ship ride from Denerim to Par Vollen, with eventual smut between Warden Yara Mahariel and Sten. Because I’m incapable of writing smut sans feelings, apparently.
Relationships: Female Mahariel/Sten (Dragon Age), Sten/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 298
Kudos: 157





	1. Stillness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, it's probably because you know me from [my FENRIS OBSESSION](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1164692) and are indulging my new crush on the Stoic Broody Bigboi™, i.e. Sten. If that's the case, THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND I LOVE YOU. 
> 
> This story exists because I actually squealed when I discovered that Sten would let you follow him home. Also, I was encouraged (some might say provoked!! 😂) by IrLaimsaAraLath's gratuitous use of the eggplant emoji. Ar lath ma, lethallan! xo

_A traveler asked the Ashkaari: "What was your vision of our purpose?"  
The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story."_

\- The Soul Canto  
*****************************************

“So,” Alistair said. “You, uh. You know what you’re doing, right?”

“I do, in fact,” Yara said. “Right now I’m packing my satchel. Hand me that dagger, will you?”

“Ha ha,” he said flatly. “Very funny. Seriously though, are you sure about this?”

“What’s to be not sure about?” she said. With some effort, she pulled the jars of medicinal salve out of the depths of her bag and squished her clothes down to the bottom instead. 

Alistair shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just… won’t you be, you know, bored?”

Yara raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think I’d be bored?”

“Because _I_ won’t be there,” he said. He pulled a mock-sad face. “You’re going to miss my amazing impressions, you know. I just perfected my sober Oghren impression and everything.” 

Yara smiled. “I will miss your impressions, it’s true. But I’ll manage. Sten will keep me company.”

Alistair grimaced. “That’s… kind of my point, actually. It’s Sten. He’s not exactly the most entertaining company you could keep.”

She huffed in amusement. “If I was looking to be entertained, I’d just stay here with Anora’s new court jesters over there.” She jerked her chin at Denerim’s central marketplace – or rather, the spot where the central marketplace used to be before the darkspawn horde had arrived. The darkspawn were gone now, but so was the collection of colourful merchants’ stands that had once stood there. Instead, the remains of a barricade had been piled into an impromptu stage, and on the stage stood Zevran and Oghren, who were entertaining a large and laughing crowd with some sort of increasingly lewd back-and-forth of riffing and insults.

“So what _are_ you looking for, exactly?” Alistair said. 

His tone was serious now. Yara finally paused in her packing to meet his eye. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully.

He raised his eyebrows. “And you think that sailing across the entire Amaranthine Ocean with Sten will help you figure it out?”

She gave him a small awkward smile. Alistair’s tone was still serious, as though he was really trying to understand where she was coming from. And although she appreciated his concern, she… well, she didn’t have an answer for him.

“I… don’t know,” she said again. “Honestly, I’m still surprised he said I could go with him.” 

“ _I’m_ still surprised you even asked,” Alistair said.

“So am I,” Yara said wryly. 

“So why _did_ you?” he pressed.

She let out a little laugh. “I don’t know,” she said. In truth, she still wasn’t sure what exactly had compelled her to invite herself on Sten’s journey home. One second he was telling her what the infrequent celebrations were like among his people back home. The next second, Yara was asking to go with him, and he was actually agreeing. 

And for reasons that Yara genuinely wasn’t sure of, the idea of sailing off to a completely foreign land with Sten was the most appealing idea she’d had since all of this Grey Warden business had begun. 

Alistair scoffed. “And we’re back to the start. Maybe it _is_ good that you’re going with him. You both talk in circles so often it makes me dizzy.”

She chuckled. “Thanks. I think.” She rose to her feet and hefted her bag onto her shoulder. “Where are you going next, then? Are you going to try and find the other Wardens?”

“Actually,” he said brightly, “I thought that me and Oghren and Zevran could travel the country as a triple act. It’s already a set-up for a joke. Zevran had a really good one, actually, did you hear it? A human, an elf and a dwarf are going for a stroll when they stop by the side of a river to relieve themselves–”

Yara gave him a chiding look. “Alistair.”

He tutted. “All right, all right, you got me. Leliana’s going to teach me to become a bard. Can I practice my singing with you? I just need to warm up first.” He cleared his throat loudly, then placed one hand on his chest and began to sing. “Oh, there once was a maiden I wanted to kiss, but she worked in a tavern that smelled just like–”

Yara laughed and pinched his arm. “Alistair!”

He laughed as well, then sighed. “All right, all right, yes, I’m going to join up with the other Wardens. They’re still on their way here from Orlais, so we’ll run into each other, I’m sure.” He tilted his head. “Write to me when you get back, all right? Maybe they’ll let us keep working together. It would be nice to travel with someone who can actually cook.”

Yara hesitated, and Alistair’s smile faded. “Wait. You’re not… you’re not actually going to stay in Seheron, are you?”

She steadily returned his gaze. “I don’t know,” she said quietly.

He stared at her in silence for a moment. Then he stepped forward and hugged her. 

She hugged him back and closed her eyes. A few moments later, he sniffled.

Yara drew back slightly. “Are you crying?” she said softly. 

“No,” he said defensively. “I just – I smell something bad. I think it’s you. Did you step in Fen’ain’s you-know-what?”

His voice sounded distinctly muffled. Yara patted his shoulder. “Nope, no mabari poop. But it could be the darkspawn guts I rubbed on myself as an exotic perfume.” She patted his back and tried to release him, but he hugged her harder. 

“If you do come back, write to me right away, will you?” he said. “Actually, you should write to me from Seheron. Tell me all about your adventures becoming a wild jungle woman.”

She chuckled. “You’ll be the first person to hear about it if I do. You be careful, all right?” She patted his back once more, then stepped back from him. “ _Dareth shiral, lethallin._ ”

“You too,” he said softly. “Assuming that meant something nice and not ‘you’re a stupid stinky human’.”

She gave him a tiny wink. “Would it be inaccurate if that’s what I said?” 

He laughed, and Yara smiled at him one last time before turning away. She pulled up her hood to hide her long red hair and began silently threading her way through the market toward the docks.

Before she got more than thirty paces, Zevran sidled up to her with Oghren close behind. “My dear Grey Warden,” he purred. “You didn’t think you could slip away from the great Zevran without a farewell, did you?”

“Aye, the elf is right,” Oghren said. “You thought you could – _burp_ – go sailing off without sharing a drink with us?”

Yara gave him a knowing look. “Does sharing a drink with you mean another sip of that horrible liquor you carry around?”

He pouted. “Not if you’re gonna talk about it like _that_.”

Zevran grimaced at Yara. “You _had_ some of that swill he carries around? He offered it to you?”

She smiled. “I can’t tell if you’re more upset that I had some, or that he didn’t offer you any.”

“The former, of course,” he said. “I have nothing but a sincere concern for your health.”

Oghren _harrumph_ ed. “You’re just jealous you never got to take a swig of old Oghren’s special homemade brew.”

Yara raised her eyebrows, and Zevran laughed. “I assure you I have no interest whatsoever in your… special homemade brew.”

His tone was suggestive and pointed. Oghren blinked at him blearily for a moment before wrinkling his nose. “Aw, I didn’t mean–” He gave Zevran a look of deep disgust. “Not in a million years, you dirty Antivan nug-licker.”

Zevran dipped into an exaggerated bow. “The sentiment is entirely shared, my pungent friend.”

Yara gave them an exasperated smirk. “Is there any particular reason you two are following me to the docks? Are you coming to Seheron too?”

Zevran laughed lightly. “I think not. We have no interest in floating Sten’s boat.”

Oghren loudly guffawed. “Aye, we’re not the ones who wanna polish Sten’s oars.”

Zevran grinned at him, then turned back to Yara. “It’s true. We aren’t interested in scouring his deck or trimming his sails.”

Oghren snorted some liquor through his nose, then hastily wiped his face. “Or – or, uh, what’s-it-called, what’s the word – manning his helm! Hah!”

Zevran burst out laughing and clapped Oghren on the shoulder. “I can’t believe you remembered that one. I’m so very proud.”

Yara pressed her lips together hard to stop herself from laughing, then gave them both a chiding look. “Is that what you two have been doing all day? Coming up with dirty nautical one-liners?”

“Not at all,” Zevran said smoothly. “I picked a few pockets as well.”

“And I won another bet against that smug bastard Teagan,” Oghren said proudly. “He had to cough up five royals.” He patted the coin pouch on his belt – or rather, the spot on his belt where the coin pouch was supposed to be.

His eyes went wide. “Wait. Where’s my…” He trailed off and looked up at Zevran with a scowl. “You!”

Zevran innocently held up the pilfered coin pouch. “Come now, you made it frightfully easy.”

“Give me that!” Oghren snapped, and he snatched the pouch from Zevran’s fingers. “Thieving pointy-eared ponce.”

Zevran snickered. Then Yara stopped and turned to them. “All right, boys, we’re here. This is where I leave you.”

“So it is,” Zevran said. He took Yara’s hand and bowed gallantly, finishing the bow with a light kiss to the back of her hand. “As we say back home, _bonne niviati_. I wish you a very rocky journey with the sea pounding against your prow, if that is your desire.”

Oghren chuckled. “Aye. And I hope you get to rut with the qunari too.”

Zevran snorted delicately, and Yara _tsk_ ed. “Is sex the only thing you two ever think about?”

“It should be,” Zevran retorted. “If all anyone ever thought about was sex, what a fine world this would be, no?”

“Why are you goin’ to Seheron, by the way?” Oghren asked suddenly. 

Yara looked at him. He was swaying slightly on his feet, but his expression was surprisingly sober. 

She gave him a small smile. “You follow me from the market all the way to the docks, and this is when you decide to ask me this?”

“You know what, the dwarf makes a fair point,” Zevran said. “It seems rather unlike you to sail away like this. I would have thought you would continue your Wardenly duties.”

Yara blinked at him. “You think it’s a bad idea for me to leave my Warden duties?”

“It’s not that,” Zevran said. “It’s simply… not like you.”

Her belly twisted slightly. He wasn’t wrong. Everything she’d done in the past year had been in the service of the Wardens. And even before that, she’d always done her best to serve the needs of her clan. The one time she’d done something even a little selfish was when she’d followed Tamlen into those ruins…

 _Tamlen._ Her gut twisted again, this time with guilt and grief along with uncertainty. And as always, she pushed the feelings aside. _No time, no point,_ she thought. Instead, she smiled at Zevran. “Are you calling me boring?” she said.

To her mild dismay, he didn’t smile. “Not at all,” he said. “I am calling you a woman of duty and honour. Dashing off on an impulsive adventure to a strange land where you’ve never been before, at great risk to yourself?” He shrugged elegantly. “You can see why I might express a concern.”

“It worked out well enough for you,” she reasoned.

“ _I_ had the great fortune of being defeated and dominated by you, my dear,” he said. Then he stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Though it seems you might be able to claim the same fortune with our giant stoic friend, if you flex your feminine charms. Of which you have many, might I add.” He slid a salacious look over her body. 

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Yara said wryly. She playfully tweaked his ear. “Be good, all right?”

“Impossible,” he purred.

Yara gave him a chiding look. “It’s not, and you know it.” She turned and smiled down at Oghren. “And you. Be kind to Felsi–”

“Hey, not so fast,” he interrupted. “You didn’t tell us why you’re goin’ on this trip. If you’re not trying to climb the qunari, then what’s the big idea?”

Yara sighed and pushed back her hood. “I… don’t really know,” she said.

Zevran and Oghren raised their eyebrows, and Yara shrugged helplessly. “I just… it just feels like the thing to do. Call it a gut feeling.”

Oghren nodded slowly. “All right, a gut feeling. I can see that. I get those sometimes. That’s how I knew I had to leave Orzammar.” He scratched his chin. “Though sometimes it just means I have to drop a load.”

Yara barked out a surprised laugh. Zevran lifted his eyes to the sky for patience, then gave Yara a charming smile. “On that delicate note: farewell, Yara Mahariel. May you find that which you seek during your journey.”

“Aye,” Oghren said. “Find whatever you’re looking for, you hear?”

“I will,” Yara said. “I hope.” She playfully tugged Oghren’s braided beard, then gave them both a warning look. “Be good, both of you.” 

Zevran winked roguishly, and Oghren chuckled. Yara smiled at them, then turned and made her way along the docks toward the Rivaini ship that Sten had hired for his journey home.

Sten was waiting for her with his customary stern expression, but he wasn’t alone: Fen’ain was sitting at his feet. As soon as the mabari caught sight of Yara, his tail started to wag, but Sten spoke to him before he could move. 

“Remember what we discussed,” he said sternly.

Fen’ain shifted slightly but remained seated at Sten’s feet, and Yara smiled at Sten as she approached them. “You’re the only other person that Fen’ain listens to other than me,” she told him.

“This mabari follows wisdom and strength,” Sten replied. “It is a shame that humans are not more like him.” 

Yara huffed in amusement. Then Sten folded his arms. “I was not aware the mabari would be accompanying us as well.”

She winced. “Is that a problem? Can mabari not come on the ship?”

“They can,” Sten said. “But he must remain on the deck. I will not have his smell in our cabin.”

Her belly jolted in a funny way. “ _Our_ cabin?” she said.

Sten nodded. “I paid for one berth. I did not expect company during the journey. You are welcome to share with me, or you can arrange for your own place to sleep.”

Her mouth was suddenly dry. Somehow she hadn’t thought about the logistics of what it would mean to travel on a ship with Sten. Not that she’d really thought about any of this at all, but still – the idea of sleeping in the same cabin with him…

She glanced at the Rivaini ship. It wasn’t that big. Did cabins on Rivaini ships have more than one bed? Did they even _have_ beds, or did people sleep in hammocks or something of the like?

Her mind was spinning, but Sten was waiting for an answer. She licked her lips. “You… don’t mind sharing with me?”

He frowned. “Why would I mind?”

“I don’t know,” she said. Then she laughed nervously. This seemed to be the only thing she could say today.

He continued to frown at her for a moment longer, then shrugged and unfolded his arms. “I’ve grown accustomed to your presence at night in camp. You are welcome to stay.”

She smiled at him. “It almost sounds like you enjoy my company, Sten.”

He peered carefully at her. “Is that flirting?”

She burst out a surprised laugh. _Fenedhis_ , her cheeks were turning warm. “Why, um… why would you say that?” she said.

“The other elf advised me to look for it,” Sten said. “Was that flirting?”

 _Bloody Zevran,_ Yara thought. She swallowed before replying. “Maybe,” she admitted. “I… I don’t know.”

Sten lifted his chin slightly. “It seems that there is a lot you don’t know, _kadan_.”

She laughed and idly tugged a lock of her hair. “So it seems,” she said ruefully.

He studied her silently in that way he had, like she was a puzzle that he was trying to solve, and Yara waited tensely for him to speak. Usually she didn’t mind his silence; it was one of the first things that Yara had come to appreciate about him, in fact. 

That wasn’t to say she was bothered by everyone else’s talking. She enjoyed the others’ chatter, and the moments when they’d sat by the campfire talking together as a group were the moments when she’d felt most at home. In those precious moments, when Leliana was strumming her lute and Wynne was knitting a scarf and softly scolding Alistair while Zevran and Oghren insulted each other, Yara could almost fool herself into thinking that this was similar to sitting with Tamlen and Ashalle and Fenarel while listening to Hah’ren Paivel’s stories after the evening meal with her clan. 

But as time went on, with the Ferelden civil war and the Blight growing more urgent and more gruesome, Yara had found herself gravitating more and more toward Sten. There was something about his stillness that called to her: the aura of calm that he maintained, no matter how terrible things became. Whether they were in Redcliffe trying to deal with demons, or being ambushed by bandits or darkspawn or giant spiders while travelling or while trying to find their way through the damned Deep Roads, Sten always maintained this enviable sense of quiet, even though Yara knew he was constantly thinking and processing everything that was going on. Even when he was irritated, even when he made his sarcastic remarks and questioned her actions, he still had this perfect sense of stillness and calm.

And Yara, in turn, found herself feeling more calm when she was around him.

At this moment, however, she wasn’t feeling particularly calm. Sten was still studying her with his particular brand of focused curiosity, and her heart was thrumming in an unnerving sort of way. 

Worse yet, now she couldn’t stop thinking about Zevran and Oghren’s stupid nautical dirty one-liners.

She finally caved in and spoke first. “So, er, how long is the journey to Seheron?”

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “We are not going to Seheron. We are going to Par Vollen.”

She blinked at him in genuine surprise. “We are?”

“Yes,” he said. “I must report to the Arishok.”

“Oh,” she said. “No, I mean, yes – o-of course. That makes sense.” She rubbed her nose, feeling foolish for not realizing that Par Vollen would be their destination. But her chest was really jangling with nerves now. Going to the war-torn island of Seheron was one thing; she couldn’t imagine that stepping into a perpetual war zone would feel that much different than the horrors of the past year. Going straight to the qunari homeland was another matter, however.

“You are afraid,” Sten said.

He was frowning once more. Yara squared her shoulders. “Yes,” she said truthfully. “But I’m still going to come with you.”

His expression softened slightly. “It is good to master your fear. Your courage does you credit. I will show you our cabin.” He took a step toward the gangplank.

“Oh,” Yara said quickly. “Before I forget, I – I brought you something.” She shrugged off her bag and pulled out a rectangular packet wrapped in a piece of thin cotton cloth, then handed the packet to Sten.

He untied the cotton cloth and peeled back the corner of the protective waxcloth. “What is…” He trailed off, and his eyebrows rose.

“It’s cake,” Yara explained. “Dalish fruit cake. I made it last night. To make up for the lack of cake at the feast.” 

Sten blinked, then lifted his gaze from the cake to her face. “Thank you.”

She waved dismissively. “I hope you like it,” she said. “It’s – I had to improvise a bit because there was no butter left in Eamon’s kitchen, not after the big feast, so I had to use applesauce which isn’t nearly the same, but–”

Sten interrupted her. “I like it,” he said.

She cocked her head to the side. “You haven’t even had any yet.”

“It is a thoughtful gift,” he said. “I appreciate it, _kadan_.”

His tone was slightly softer than usual, and Yara’s heart fluttered with pleasure. She smiled at him. “You’re welcome, Sten.”

He nodded, then carefully wrapped the waxcloth back over the cake. “I might even share it.”

She chuckled. “I would hope so. It’s a rather large cake.”

“I am a large person,” he said. “Compared to the rest of you _bas_ , at least.” He jerked his chin at Fen’ain, who was still sitting attentively at his feet. “Go.”

Fen’ain bolted up the gangplank onto the ship. Sten looked at Yara once more. “Are you ready to depart?”

Yara took a deep breath and glanced back at the Denerim docks, which were bustling with activity. People were cleaning debris from the darkspawn destruction, using fishing nets to drag debris from the water and repairing broken boats at the dock and calling out to each other, and their children were running around and shouting and playing despite the mess. There were Chantry sisters and brothers giving out food and reciting bits of the Chant, and a few opportunistic merchants trying to sell goods that had likely been gained by ill means, and it was all so incredibly loud. 

She turned to Sten, who was standing silently at her side. She looked up into his stern violet eyes and nodded. “Yes,” said. “I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Housekeeping note: Not sure yet how often this will update; probably weekly, though I'm a little busy for the next week or two. 
> 
> In the meantime, I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for those who don't already know me: a humble servant to my loyal readers. xoxo


	2. Purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A beautiful gift sketch of Yara, by the insanely talented [Lethendralis on Tumblr!](https://lethendralis-paints.tumblr.com/)
> 
>   
> 

_A traveler asked the Ashkaari: "What was your vision of our purpose?"  
The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story."_

_A vast granite statue stands on an island, holding back the sea.  
The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world.  
The sea drowns its feet with every tide._

\- The Soul Canto

**********************

Yara hovered in the doorway of the guest cabin. It was a small cabin, just barely tall enough for Sten to stand up straight. The furnishings were sparse: a cedar chest for storage and a plain wooden stool, an equally plain tiny wooden table, and a bed.

Just the one solitary bed. 

Yara eyed the bed with a nervous sort of writhing in her belly. It was a double bed: a reasonable enough size for a qunari of Sten’s breadth and height, though it probably wouldn’t be comfortable to share. 

_Not that we’ll be sharing it,_ she thought hastily. There was no reason to share the bed, after all; it occupied most of the space in the cabin, but there was enough room on the floor to lay out a bedroll. 

“It is small, but we’ll make do,” Sten said from behind her.

She tore her eyes away from the bed and shifted aside so he could enter the cabin. “Of course,” she said. “It’s, um. At least it’s dry. Having a roof overhead will make for a nice change.” 

He nodded. He was critically inspecting the bed. “We will take turns sleeping in the bed,” he said. “I will sleep on the floor every other night.”

“What?” Yara said in surprise. “No, that’s not – you paid for the cabin, you should sleep in the bed! _I’ll_ sleep on the floor.” 

He shook his head and continued to inspect the mattress. “We will take turns,” he repeated.

Yara tilted her head chidingly, but she didn’t bother arguing with him further. His offer wasn’t motivated by chivalry, she knew, but rather by his sense of what was equal and fair, and trying to argue with him would probably just turn into a discussion of the societal detriment of money as a means of exchanging goods and services. And as much as Yara would usually be game to engage Sten in such a discussion, she was feeling too nervous about their imminent departure to push it.

She shrugged and smiled. “All right, if you insist. I’ll sleep in the bed half the time. I’m not going to argue with you if it’s to my benefit.” 

“It may not be to your benefit if the mattress has bedbugs,” Sten said.

Yara took an involuntary step back. “Does it?” 

He glanced at her, and she relaxed and smiled. “Very funny, Sten.” 

His expression softened, and he turned away from the bed and nodded at the door. “Come. It’s best to start the journey above deck.” 

She followed him out of the cabin. The ship was a smaller craft, manned by about forty women and men from Rivain, and the deck was a bustle of activity as the barefoot sailors pulled on ropes and loosened the sails and prepared themselves to set out. Sten led her toward the left-hand side of the boat – or the _port_ side, as she’d heard one sailor say – and they gazed quietly at the Denerim dockside as the sailors prepared to cast off. 

The docks were still bustling: merchants hawking wares and children playing and residents helping to tidy the debris. Yara watched it all for a moment, then looked up at Sten. “Have you been on many journeys on the sea?”

“Yes,” he said. “Primarily short journeys from Seheron to Par Vollen and back, but also to Tevinter. The journey to this country was the longest I have taken.” 

She nodded, then paused as she realized something. “That reminds me,” she said. “I forgot to ask how long this trip is.”

He gave her an odd look before replying. “It is a three-week journey with swift winds. Maybe longer if the weather is foul.”

She nodded, then raised an eyebrow at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You are unprepared for this journey,” he said.

She let out a little laugh and idly ruffled her hair. “I… yes, you’re right. I really didn’t think about this much.”

His frown deepened. “It is unlike you to act with so little preparation.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “I know, I know, you thought I was overpreparing to meet the Archdemon. But it turned out for the best in the end, right? The dwarves in particular really came in handy against those ogres.”

Sten grunted noncommittally. “You should be prepared for what is to come. This is a small vessel. You will likely become seasick.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a small sachet that smelled of mint, then handed it to her. “Chew on this if you feel ill, and stand at the bow.” He pointed toward the front of the boat. “Keep an eye on the horizon. It will help your mind and body align, easing the illness that you will feel.”

She smiled up at him. “Are these qunari tips and tricks you’re sharing?”

He gave her a flat look. “This is common knowledge, _kadan_. It is in your interest to heed it.” 

She chuckled and carefully tucked the mint into her vest pocket. “I hear you loud and clear. Anything else you think I should know before we set out?”

Sten showed her the basic common areas of the ship, and Yara politely introduced herself to the captain and his officers. Upon discovering that she was not only a Grey Warden, but _the_ Grey Warden who had landed the killing blow on the Archdemon, the sailors immediately began peppering her with questions about the Blight and being a Warden and what it was like to face the ancient tainted dragon. Yara tried to hide her weariness as she answered their questions – as much as she _could_ answer their questions, at least, considering that all she knew of the Wardens was what little Alistair, Duncan, and Riordan had been able to tell her. She eventually managed to deflect the sailors’ questions by asking _them_ questions in turn about their jobs, probing them about the places they had travelled and their lives on the sea, and when the topic of conversation turned away from her, she began to feel more at ease. 

Eventually the captain barked at the crew to take their positions and weigh anchor. As they drifted away from her to resume their posts, Yara let out a breath and looked up at Sten, who had been standing silently at her back throughout the conversation. 

He raised his eyebrows, and she smiled and gestured at the port taffrail. He nodded in return, and they drifted over to watch the Denerim docks as the ship began to move. 

The movement was slow and gradual at first as the ship slid out of its narrow berth. They swiftly picked up speed as they left the port, however, and by the time Yara realized how quickly this was all happening – how quickly she was being carried away from dry land, away from the only country she had ever known – Denerim was disappearing into the distance, disappearing with greater speed until she could no longer make out the individual people on the dock. 

She released a slow breath, then inhaled deeply and ran her slightly trembling hands through her hair. The wind smelled fresh and salty, and the ship was sliding smoothly through the deep turquoise depths of the Amaranthine Ocean, and…

Creators, she was on the ocean. She, Yara Mahariel, a Dalish elf who’d been conscripted to become a Grey Warden, was sailing across the Amaranthine Ocean to Par Vollen with her qunari friend. If she hadn’t lived through all the crazy events of this past year, it would seem utterly and entirely mad. 

Fen’ain romped up to her and barked, and she smiled and scratched the big mabari behind his ears. Then Sten spoke to her. “You look pale. Chew the mint if you are nauseated.” 

She glanced at him in surprise, then shook her head. “No, I – I feel fine. I actually… I was just thinking that the air smells good out here. Different.”

He nodded. “The smell of the sea. It is a comfort. Or it would be, if other smells weren’t so pungent.” He shot Fen’ain a pointed look.

Fen’ain cocked his head, and Yara smiled more widely. “You can give him a bath anytime, Sten,” she said playfully. 

“Perhaps I should,” Sten said.

Fen’ain tucked his tail between his legs and whined, and Sten frowned at him. “Cowardice does not suit you,” he said sternly. “Fortunately for you, water is a precious resource on a ship. We will have to suffer your stench for some time longer.”

Fen’ain wagged his tail. Sten shook his head in disappointment before walking away, and Yara watched in amusement as he disappeared into the crew and guest quarters. He emerged shortly after with a book in hand and went up to the forecastle deck, then settled himself on a bench with his book. 

Yara smiled to herself, then turned back to the ocean and inhaled the strange and foreign scent of salt on the wind. Denerim was already a fuzzy blur on the horizon, notable more thanks to its proximity to the lush verdancy of the Brecilian Forest, and when even the Forest became nothing more than an indistinct smear of green, she sighed.

She felt… odd. Melancholy but light at the same time. Her whole body felt looser than it had in ages, and the near-constant tension headache she’d been having for the past few months was blessedly gone, at least for now. And yet, she couldn’t really say that she was happy. Happier than she was before the Archdemon was dead, certainly, but not actually _happy_. 

She shouldn’t be expecting to suddenly be happy, though. It wasn’t like everything she’d been through over the past year had gone away. She was still a girl who’d been torn away from her clan against her will. She was still a girl whose best friend had been turned into darkspawn, and whom she’d been forced to kill. She was still a girl who’d been raised up from the comfortable obscurity of the forest into the so-called Hero of Ferelden, whether she wanted to be called a hero or not. 

She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to the cloudless sky. At least here on this ship, she was free from that unwanted title. The Rivaini sailors might find her fascinating, but she’d deflected their attention once already, and she could do it again. And Sten certainly wouldn’t be hero-worshipping her anytime soon, which was an enormous relief. 

She gazed silently at the seemingly endless ocean. The longer she stood there just gazing vacantly at the water, the more oddly tense she started to feel, and she wasn’t quite sure why. 

She sighed and looked over at the bench where Sten was sitting with his book. Then she and Fen’ain wandered up to the forecastle to join him. 

She took a seat on the bench and glanced at the open book in his lap, then double-taked. “Sten, what are you reading?” she demanded.

“A book that the healer mage gave to me,” he said. “It is called _The Rose of Orlais_.”

Yara gaped at him. “That’s – but that’s a romance novel! You’re reading a romance novel?”

“I am studying it,” he corrected. “The more I learn of your customs, the more complete my report to the Arishok will be. So far, what I have learned is that human customs of mating are inefficient and illogical.” He shot her a frank look. “But the customs of elves are also inefficient, if the assassin’s behaviour toward you was representative.”

Yara laughed.

He raised his eyebrows. “What amuses you?”

“You,” she said warmly. “Sten of the beresaad, studying an Orlesian romance novel.”

He scowled at her. “Do _not_ call me a softie.”

She laughed again. “I wasn’t going to. I was just… wondering, I suppose. Are all qunari like you?”

“We all know our roles in the world and fulfill them for the benefit of all, if that’s what you mean,” he said dryly.

“I don’t really mean that,” she said. “I mean… well, for example, would your brothers in the beresaad study romance novels?”

Sten frowned. “They… did not have the capacity to do so,” he said slowly.

Yara raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“They could not read the common tongue,” he said. “They spoke it passably, but they could not read it.”

“Really?” Yara said in surprise. “You were the only one in your group who could read?”

“The only one who could read your language,” Sten said. “All imekari are equally taught to read in our language.”

“That’s… really nice, actually,” Yara admitted. She’d been shocked and dismayed to learn how many elves in the Denerim alienage didn’t know how to read.

Sten shot her a sideways look. “And that is another sign of the flaws in your society. How can you learn to think if you are not taught to read? If the tools of gaining wisdom are kept from you?”

She grimaced. “I suppose you have a point.”

He nodded, then returned his attention to the book, and Yara watched him fondly for a moment. Sten could rationalize his reading material all he wanted, but she somehow didn’t believe that his only motive was to study.

She shifted a little closer to him on the bench. “Will you read it to me?” she said, half-jokingly.

He shot her a suspicious look. “For what purpose?”

She shrugged. “Why not? I’m not doing anything else right now.”

He looked at her more fully, and her belly did a funny little jolt: he was studying her again in that penetrating way of his. 

“This bothers you,” he said.

She blinked. “What does?”

“Your inactivity,” he said. “Your lack of goal. This is bothersome to you.”

She faltered, thrown off by his change of topic. “I… I don’t know if I’d call it bothersome,” she hedged. “It’s a little strange, maybe. It’s been a while since I was able to just do nothing.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is this not a goal in itself among your people? To be able to do nothing?”

She stared at him with growing bemusement. “Why would you think that?”

“Humans gather coin and use that coin to make others do their work for them,” he said. “They pay people in order to have more time to do nothing.”

Yara burst out a laugh. “You know what, that’s true. I guess you’re right. But it’s not like that among _my_ people,” she said. “The Dalish don’t have servants. We all pitch in to benefit the clan. We’re like the qunari in that way.”

“And yet _you_ chose your role,” he pointed out. “You chose to be a hunter, for example, and not a wrangler of those… those creatures with the elaborate horns.”

“The halla,” she said with a smile.

Sten nodded an acknowledgement. “You chose to become a hunter.”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “But my clan needed hunters. I was doing something that was needed.”

“But it was a role that _you_ chose,” he said. 

_Ah,_ she thought. Now she knew what his problem was: that she had chosen her own role, and not some supposedly better-informed group of people in authority. 

She tilted her head curiously. “Do you really think it was bad that I was a hunter just because _I_ chose to be one instead of someone else choosing it for me?”

“It’s not a matter of good or bad,” Sten said. “It’s a matter of what _is_. You cannot choose what you are. The only choice is whether to comply with the nature of the world and your place in it. You understand who you are, or you defy your own nature. That is the only true choice.”

Yara gazed at him with a combination of fondness and exasperation. “But Sten, the Dalish don’t have tamassrans who tell us what to do.”

He leaned away and gave her an approving look. “You do understand the problem, then.”

Utterly nonplussed, Yara stared at him. Then she shook her head and chuckled. “Look, if you didn’t want to read to me, you could have just said so.”

Sten grunted. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t read to you. If you really wish to be treated like a particularly slow imekari, then I will treat you as one.”

She laughed. “You know what, I’ll bear that insult if it means you’ll read to me.”

He inspected her carefully. “Is this another attempt at flirting?”

She snorted another laugh, even as she could feel her cheeks going warm. “Maybe you should keep reading your romance novel and find out.”

Sten scowled. “I am not reading. I am _studying_.” He smoothed his palm over the page, and to Yara’s great delight, he began to read out loud. “Garren lifted his sculpted chin. ‘It is not a matter of if you will fall for me, my dear, but when. You will have only yourself to blame for the fall.’”

Yara smirked and crossed her legs comfortably on the bench, and for a peaceful time, she listened to Sten’s reading and scratched a very happy Fen’ain behind the ears. 

The afternoon wore on into the evening, and Yara accepted the captain’s invitation to join the crew during the evening meal. She played cards with some of the crew after dinner, and she quietly enjoyed the raucous banter of the sailors as they cursed and laughed at each other over their exchange of coin. But her attention kept drifting to Sten, who had taken his meal alone on the forecastle deck and remained there alone with only Fen’ain for company. 

Later that evening, she returned to sit with him once more while he was sharpening and polishing his sword. He glanced up and nodded when she approached but he didn’t speak, so Yara nodded silently in turn before sitting on the bench and crossing her legs. 

She gazed idly at the gradually darkening sky and breathed in the fresh and salty ocean air. Then, to her mild surprise, Sten broke the silence. “I did not think to ask before. Why did you decide to join me?”

Yara smiled wryly. Everyone else had asked her this, and she supposed it was only fair that the man she was following across the Amaranthine Ocean wanted to know why exactly she was doing it. But her answer for Sten was the same as the one she’d given to Alistair, Oghren and Zevran.

“I don’t know,” she said.

He studied her intently for a moment, then went back to polishing his blade. “This is unheard of, _kadan_. Qunari always know their purpose.”

“I know,” she said. “But I’m not qunari.”

“That is true,” he said. He fell silent, and Yara waited for him to say something more. When he didn’t, she shifted a little closer to him.

“I’m surprised you don’t have more to say about it,” she said.

He glanced at her. “What more is there to say?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Something about my purpose being to kill the archdemon, maybe?”

He frowned slightly. “That was not your purpose. That was your mission. You fulfilled your mission, but that is not the same as fulfilling your purpose.”

Yara tilted her head curiously. “What do you mean?” 

He lowered his blade to look at her. “I am the eyes and ears of the antaam,” he said. “That is my purpose. At this moment, I am carrying intelligence back to the Arishok, and that is my mission. What little intelligence that I was able to find, at least.”

Yara snorted. “That was needlessly rude.”

“And yet you laugh,” he said.

She grinned at him. “I didn’t say it wasn’t funny.”

“Hm,” he said, and Yara grinned at him more widely: there was a hint of a crinkle at the corners of his eyes. 

But his next words took the smile from her face. “You lack purpose, _kadan_. This does not surprise me. You are a Grey Warden, yet you know little of your own order. You do not know yourself, or what you are for. It was cruel of your people to leave you this way.”

She blinked at him, a little taken aback by the bluntness of his statement. “I don’t – I wouldn’t say it was _cruel_ ,” she said. “Duncan would definitely have told us more about the Wardens if he had survived the massacre at Ostagar.”

“Yet you entered into your order not knowing that it was a death sentence,” Sten said. “Not knowing that it would bring you restless dreams, or that it would render you sterile.”

Yara stopped breathing for a second. Sten didn’t mean to be cruel, she knew, but the truths he was reminding her of… those were cruel, and she didn’t want to think about it.

She dropped his gaze. “I… no, I guess not.” She shifted on the bench and wrapped her arms around her knees.

Apparently oblivious to her dismay, Sten was still talking. “The tamassrans see that all qunari know themselves,” he said. “I became a soldier of the antaam knowing that I would perish in battle someday. The fact that I have not yet means only that I have more years to devote to my purpose.”

“And you’re just… fine with that?” she said weakly.

“It is to be,” Sten said. “It is the way of things. It is not a matter of being ‘fine with it’. It simply is.”

Yara sighed heavily and rested her chin on her knees. “It must be nice to have all the answers,” she said softly.

“I don’t have all the answers,” he replied. “Only those that I need to fulfill my purpose.”

Yara nodded and swallowed the growing lump in her throat. Sten’s reminders about the most bitter parts of being a Warden were too close to home – too close to the bundle of pain she’d been pushing down since all of this had begun.

“I have upset you,” Sten said.

She looked up to find him still gazing carefully at her. She shook her head slightly. “No,” she said tentatively. “Not… not on purpose, at least. I…” She trailed off and pushed her fingers through her hair as she tried to collect her thoughts. “I just needed to… to think,” she said finally. “And to get away from being the Hero of Ferelden. I guess I was just… hoping to figure out what to do next. And _you_ always know what you’re doing next, so I thought…” She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what I thought.”

He nodded. “I understand,” he said. “You are seeking your purpose. I respect this. It is simply pitiable that you must figure this out for yourself.”

She recoiled from him, feeling stung by his words. “You think I’m pitiable?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he said calmly. “All _bas_ are pitiable, because they do not know the Qun. They are not enlightened, and they do not know themselves. One day my people will return, and they will no longer be pitiable.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Yara said in a hard tone. “And it matters to me what _you_ think. Do _you_ think I’m pitiable?”

He paused and gazed at her for a long moment: long enough that her irritation began to fade. “I do not think you are pitiable, _kadan_ ,” he said finally. “It would be easy to think you are running away. But I can see that you are seeking something to run toward.”

She let out a long sigh. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

He nodded and continued polishing his blade, and Yara watched him a little bit sadly. A minute later, he rose from the bench and sheathed the blade. “I will return in a moment,” he said, and he walked away.  


Yara idly petted Fen’ain as she waited for Sten to return. When he came back, he was carrying the cake she’d given him.

He sat on the bench and set the cake between them, then carefully unwrapped it and cut two pieces from it – one considerably smaller than the other. He pushed the smaller piece toward her, and she smiled at him. 

“You’re sharing after all?” she said.

He nodded. “I told you that I might.”

She chuckled and picked up her piece of cake. “You gave me the smaller piece, I see.”

“You are a smaller person,” he replied. “It is only fair.”

She smiled at him, then took a bite of cake and chewed it experimentally. It was dense and moist from the applesauce, with just a hint of sour from the dried cranberries studded throughout, and Yara’s throat tightened at the familiar taste of home. 

“It is very good,” Sten said. “Thank you again, _kadan_.”

His stern face was relaxed. When Yara met his eye, the corner of his mouth turned up in the faintest smile. 

She smiled, then shyly dropped his gaze and tucked her hair over her ear. “Anytime, Sten.”

They sat together on the bow eating their cake and ignoring Fen’ain’s pleading stare. As the colourful canvas of sunset blended slowly into the dark and star-studded nighttime sky, Yara sat quietly next to Sten and listened to the hush of the ocean sluicing past the sides of the ship. 

She sighed and closed her eyes. Despite the constant movement of the ship and the gentle fingers of wind pulling at her hair, she felt very still.

With Sten’s steady presence at her side, Yara felt so very still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are we feeling about the italicizing of Qunlat words? I started italicizing 'kadan' and now I can't stop, but does anyone have opinions about the others? AM I CRAZY FOR FOCUSING ON SOMETHING SO SMALL??
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for anyone who wants to swing by. xoxo


	3. Sweat

_A traveler asked the Ashkaari: "What was your vision of our purpose?"  
The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story."_

_A vast granite statue stands on an island, holding back the sea.  
The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world.  
The sea drowns its feet with every tide.  
The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back.  
The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again._

\- The Soul Canto  
***************************

When Yara woke up in her bedroll the next morning, it was to find herself alone in the cabin.

This came as no great surprise. Sten was an early riser, and Yara still remembered the difficulty he’d had adjusting to the rest of their group’s late-rising tendencies — and by late-rising, Sten meant anytime past sunrise. His sarcastic comments about Yara and the others’ so-called laziness had escalated until she’d been forced to command him to stop complaining. It was one of the few uncomfortable times that she’d had to ‘pull rank’ on him, so to speak, but also one of the first times that she could remember him looking at her with respect.

_I’m not the one in charge now, though,_ she thought. And with that thought came a strange combination of relief and uncertainty. She hadn’t enjoyed being the de facto leader of their little group of fighters and friends, but she had enjoyed their company, and it was oddly quiet now with none of the usual morning sounds of chatting and bickering and joking around. She also hadn’t enjoyed the pressure of having Ferelden’s fate in her and Alistair’s hands, but she _had_ enjoyed feeling like she was doing something useful despite the terrible fortune that fate had dealt her. 

And now she was alone in the quiet of this empty cabin, with an entire day stretching in front of her with nothing to do. An entire three weeks of nothing to do, really, according to Sten.

Maybe coming on this journey hadn’t been the greatest idea after all. 

She quickly brushed the uncertainty aside. _No point,_ she thought. There was no point having any regrets, because it wasn’t like she could go back to Ferelden now. Besides, hadn’t she purposely come on this trip so she could take a break from the pressure of having so much to do?

She sat up in her bedroll and unbraided her hair, then fetched her comb and a strip of leather from her pack and bound her hair up into a bun. She quickly brushed her teeth and drank a gulp of water from her waterskin, and thus prepared for the day, she stepped out onto the deck. 

What she _wasn’t_ prepared for, however, was the sight of Sten shirtless. 

She stopped short when she saw him. He was alone on the forecastle deck, wielding a blunted sword of the type that warriors trained with, and he was going through one of the drill sequences that he did every morning while he was waiting for Yara and the others to get moving. 

She’d never seen him doing this sequence without a shirt on, though, and she couldn’t help but stare while he went through his brisk and practiced motions. He was bulky with muscle, and his smoky skin was puckered with a plethora of scars including a rather vicious-looking one that ran across his left flank in a jagged line.

Yara licked her dry lips, then slowly made her way toward the forecastle. She hovered awkwardly at the bottom of the forecastle stairs until Sten spotted her. 

He paused in his drills and lowered his sword. “ _Kadan,_ ” he said.

He was sweaty. There was sweat on his collarbones and his sternum. Yara waved vaguely at his bare chest. “This is, um, different,” she said stupidly.

“What is different?” he asked. 

“The, um. The lack of shirt,” she said. “What’s the occasion?”

“We are no longer in Ferelden,” he said. “I have no further need to adopt Fereldan customs for the comfort of the _bas_ who reside there.” He gestured for her to approach. “Come. You should train with me.”

Yara gaped at him. “H-hang on. Do you mean – do qunari not wear shirts?”

“Elven and human _viddathari_ prefer to wear them,” he said. “But qunari who are born and raised in our lands are equally comfortable without.”

“How?” she said.

He frowned. “How what?”

_How do you go around without staring at each other all the time?_ she thought as she eyed his midriff. Then she mentally scolded herself for being so juvenile. She was a grown woman; there was no reason to feel this flustered by the sight of a shirtless man. Even if that man was seven feet tall and packed with three times more muscle than any elven man she’d ever seen. 

She forced herself to look him in the eye. “How are you comfortable being, um… half-naked all the time?”

He wilted slightly, and Yara couldn’t help but smile; he was wearing his signature _you-foolish-bas_ look. “I could ask how you are comfortable being so hindered by your many layers of cloth and metal,” he said. Then he huffed. “Besides, the swamp witch did not seem concerned with being half-naked.”

Yara smiled more widely. “I knew you had a crush on Morrigan.”

Sten frowned. “I did not. I would have to find a way to incapacitate her before crushing her, or she would set me on fire with her unbridled magic.”

Yara opened her mouth to explain what she meant – or maybe to laugh, she wasn’t sure – then decided not to go there. “Don’t you get cold?” she asked instead.

“It is much warmer in the north,” he said. He gestured again for her to approach.

She made her way up the steps to join him on the forecastle. “What about… armour? Do qunari not usually wear armour?”

“Of course we do,” he said. “But our armour is–” He broke off with a frown, and Yara tilted her head.

“What?” she asked. “What were you going to say?”

“More than I should,” he said quietly. He picked up a pair of practice daggers from the bench and held them out to her. “Come, _kadan_. Let’s train.”

_I want to know what you were going to say,_ she thought. But if Sten wasn’t in the mood to talk, the best way to persuade him was usually to come back to it later, especially after he’d been training or if he’d had something to eat.

She took the blunted practice daggers and twirled then experimentally. “Did you borrow these from the crew?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I was waiting for you.” He picked up his practice sword and held it ready.

She smiled and tilted her head. “Should I be flattered that you were waiting?”

He studied her for a moment before replying. “ _That_ is flirting.”

She laughed. “Yes, on purpose. You’re getting the hang of recognizing it now.”

Sten huffed. “Inefficient,” he muttered. “But no, you should not be flattered. You should be ashamed to have wasted so much of the morning asleep.”

Yara chuckled, then spun her daggers once more and settled into an easy crouch. “All right, no more wasting time. I’m ready when you are.”

Sten nodded, then came at her with a strong overhead swing. Yara dodged while raising her daggers so his blade glanced off of her own, then brought one dagger around for a quick strike toward his belly, but he shifted out of her reach and brought the sword in toward her side.

She swiftly rolled toward him to avoid the swing and aimed her dagger at his thigh. But before she could strike him, his pommel was tapping her temple. 

She froze, and Sten grunted. “You are slow.”

“You’re quick!” she retorted. Sten wasn’t usually able to get away from her in time when she came in for a low strike. “How…?” 

He stood back to let her rise, then gestured to his naked chest. “I am no longer hindered,” he said. He hefted his practice sword again. “Now come. Strike hard, _kadan_. If you can.” 

His deadpan voice held a hint of a taunt, but Yara couldn’t rise to it like she usually would; she was too busy looking at his arms. The veins were popping in his forearms and the backs of his hands as he adjusted his grip on the sword, and she’d never noticed those veins before. Well, she _couldn’t_ have noticed them before, since his arms had always been covered by vambraces or gauntlets, or simple sleeves if they were training like this at camp. 

_No longer hindered,_ she thought stupidly. She swallowed hard, then rushed him. 

He turned his sword to block her, shifting smoothly back as she used one dagger to parry and the other to strike, and Yara pushed ruthlessly toward him. Ten seconds later, however, the edge of his blade was pressed to her belly, and he was actually smirking. 

She lowered her daggers. “ _Fenedhis_ ,” she cursed, and she let out a little laugh. “You never told us you were fighting with a handicap all this time.”

“It would be foolish to admit to such a thing among foreign forces,” he said. He stepped away from her and lifted his greatsword again. “Come. Strike me. Remind me why women in your land are permitted to fight.”

She burst out a laugh. “You asked for it.” She flipped one of her daggers into a backwards grip, then darted at him once more. 

They continued to train together, striking and dodging and parrying each other’s blows as Yara tried to adjust to Sten’s unexpected agility. By the time she finally managed to slip beneath his arms to press the tip of her blade to the side of his neck, they were both breathing hard. 

“Well met, _kadan_ ,” he grumbled. 

Yara couldn’t reply; she could barely catch a breath. Every gulp of air she took was scented with his sweat, and the smell of it was leaving her witless.

It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like the smell of his sweat was new to her. After a year of travelling and roughing it with her companions, Yara was more familiar with bodily smells than she ever thought she would be. Oghren’s sweat was pungent with booze, and Leliana smelled like warm skin and the perfume that she dabbed behind her ears, and Zevran hardly gave off any scent at all even when he was absolutely dripping. But Sten… 

Sten smelled like heat and salt. Almost like the ocean, but sharper and somehow savoury. And as Yara stood within the circle of his arms with her blunted dagger pressed to his neck, she couldn’t believe she’d never realized just how damned _good_ he smelled. 

Her heart was pounding in her throat. She took a careful breath through her parted lips and scrambled to find something to say. “Now who’s slow?” she said.

Sten scoffed, then carefully stepped away from her. “That took considerable effort, _kadan_. You can’t let this journey make you lazy. We should keep training every day.”

She lifted her chin and planted one hand on her hip. “I was planning on it,” she said.

The corner of his lips rose slightly, and he nodded. He went over to the bench and drank deeply from a waterskin, then offered it to her.

She gratefully took the waterskin, then sat beside him on the bench. They sat quietly together for a moment, and Yara watched from the corner of her eye as he wiped his face and neck with a cloth, then ran his hand idly over his braids. 

She forced herself to look up at the perfect azure sky instead of at him. “So, um… if normal armour is a hindrance, then what kind of armour do qunari wear?”

Sten rubbed his chin before replying. “We have armour called _vitaar_ ,” he said. “It is a type of paint that hardens the skin.”

She gaped at him. “Paint that hardens the skin? Doesn’t that hurt?”

“It neither hurts nor hinders our movement,” he said. “Having travelled with you, I see now that the effect is similar to the barriers that your mages cast, though more enduring.”

“Yes, it sounds like–” She stopped herself abruptly. It wouldn’t be helpful to point out that _vitaar_ sounded like magic. “Is it a kind of alchemy, then?” she asked instead. 

“I do not know how it is made, or how it works,” he said. “I know only how it is used. We paint it on the skin before battle and wash it off when the battle is done.”

“Wow,” Yara said softly. “That’s incredible.”

“Yes,” Sten said. “It is only for those of my race, however. Attempts to adapt the _vitaar_ to elven and human _viddathari_ have failed.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean, ‘failed’?” 

“They die,” Sten said simply. “The _vitaar_ kills them.”

She stared at him, struck dumb by the thought of being killed by bodypaint. Sten glanced at her, then ran a hand over his braids once more before rising to his feet. 

“We should return to training,” he said. He lifted his blunted sword, and Yara rose as well with her daggers in hand. Sten swung his sword a couple of times as though to limber up, and as Yara studied the muscles shifting beneath his skin, she couldn’t help but imagine painting his skin with an invisible barrier. 

_Incredible,_ she thought idly. Imagine being able to just brush on some paint and suddenly have a layer of armour-tough skin. She’d never heard of anything like it before. 

And suddenly she realized why Sten had stopped himself from telling her about the _vitaar_ before.

She lowered her blunted daggers. “Sten… is the _vitaar_ supposed to be a qunari state secret?”

His eyebrows rose before creasing into a deep frown. “The preparation of _vitaar_ is largely secret even to the soldiers who use it.”

With a pang, she noted that he had avoided answering her question. She rephrased it. “What I mean is – is it bad that you told me about it?”

He stared silently at her for long enough that her nerves began to jangle. When he finally spoke, his words were slow and deliberate. “I told you nothing that is not already known to our Tevinter enemies. The knowledge you now have will not allow you to replicate the process.”

She gazed at him warily. It almost seemed like he was rationalizing that he’d told her about it. “I don’t care about replicating the process,” she said. “I care about you getting in trouble with the Arishok.”

He stared at her for a while longer. He was frowning still, but Yara could swear that something about his expression was softening. “I have done worse during this mission than to tell you about _vitaar_ ,” he said. “Now let us continue training.” He abruptly swung at her in a broad upward arc.

She hastily skipped away from his sword, then stumbled slightly as he continued to drive at her with a series of overhand blows. A few tense heartbeats later, she succeeded at diverting his blade to the left. 

_Finally,_ she thought. She slammed her shoulder gracelessly into his undefended right side and pressed her dagger to his ribs.

He froze. “ _Vashedan_ ,” he muttered. 

She released a heavy breath. “What do you mean, you’ve done worse than tell me about _vitaar_?”

He didn’t reply, and Yara felt his ribs rising and falling against her shoulder as he breathed. Then he stepped away from her and lowered his sword. 

“There was an _ashkaari_ who once visited a laundress’s yard,” he said. “The yard contained many vats of water and soap, and each vat was overseen by labourers who dunked and squeezed the fabric quickly before wringing it dry. As the _ashkaari_ watched, he noticed that every piece of fabric was not completely clean. Faint stains remained on some of the clothing, distracting the _ashkaari_ from the rich colours of the cloth. So the ashkaari spoke to the laundress. ‘Will the fabric not be cleaner the longer it is soaked?’ The laundress replied, ‘The longer it remains in the water, the more colour it will lose. The water is cleansing, but that cleansing comes at a cost.’ ‘But there are stains,’ the _ashkaari_ said. ‘The colour may not bleed, but it is no longer perfect.’” Sten shifted his weight before continuing the parable. “The laundress led the _ashkaari_ to another yard. This yard also held many vats, but the vats did not contain water and soap: they contained dye. A deep, rich dye that would hide all other colours. ‘Small stains happen,’ the laundress said, ‘but that does not mean the fabric is spoiled. The cloth may not be perfect, but it is still cloth. And if the stains become too great, we will dye the fabric again, and it will be renewed.’” 

Yara frowned thoughtfully, and for a moment, she and Sten just stared at each other. Then she scratched her ear and sighed. “I’m sorry, I… I need to think about that one for a while.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly. “Good. Then we can resume our training.”

Yara smirked. “Careful, Sten. It almost sounds like you enjoy fighting with a woman.”

He huffed and lifted his sword once more. “Enough talk. Show me the way of blades, _kadan_.”

She grinned, and a moment later they were engaged in another flurry of flying blades and quickly dodging feet. 

They trained together for another hour, taking short but frequent breaks to drink and to catch their breath, and Yara did her best to concentrate despite the dual distractions of Sten’s naked torso and the perfume of his sweat. By the time the hour was done, however, she had to ruefully admit that Sten had bested her more times than not. 

“This is proof, _kadan_ ,” he told her. “Women do not fight as well as men. Battle is not in your nature.”

Yara wrinkled her nose and plopped down on the bench. “If we weren’t friends, I would punch you.”

He shrugged as he sat beside her. “Your punch would be harmless. Your female fists are too small.”

Yara _tsk_ ed and punched his arm, and he gave her a chiding look. “Like a fly beating against a windowpane,” he remarked.

She tried to scowl at him, but his expression was so deadpan that she couldn’t help but laugh instead. “Our training should include some hand-to-hand combat, then,” she said. “Maybe I should make it a goal to give you a proper punch by the time we get to Par Vollen.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You want to practice hand-to-hand combat against me?”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re the perfect challenge. If I manage to actually hurt you, then imagine how much damage I could do to a human.”

He huffed and stroked his chin. “That is an understandable incentive.”

She chuckled. “I thought you’d like that. Besides, you’ll be helping me to hone my strength and my strategy.” She tilted her head knowingly. “Qunari appreciate those traits, right?”

He shot her a flat look, then sat back and rested his palms on his knees. “You are not wrong.”

“So you’ll help me, then?” she asked.

He eyed her for a moment longer, then nodded once. “Yes. I will help you train this skill.”

She smiled and squeezed his arm. “Thanks, Sten. I appreciate it.”

He nodded silently. A moment later, he looked down at her. “You are flirting again.”

“What?” She looked at him in surprise, then followed his gaze down to her hand – her hand which was still resting on his arm.

She whipped her hand away. “Sorry,” she blurted. “I – sorry. I’m going to, um, find something to eat.” She jumped to her feet and hurried away before Sten could reply. 

She made a beeline straight for their cabin. Once inside, she plopped down on her bedroll and buried her burning cheeks in her hands, overwhelmed by her own confusing jumble of thoughts and feelings. There was the satisfying ache in her muscles from their training and the empty pit in her belly from having trained so hard before having breakfast. There was a faint thread of unease about Sten’s enigmatic parable, and a thread of undeniable excitement at the thought of Sten’s bare and sweat-dappled chest – then even more unease at the thought of that muscular chest being slathered with poisonous paint that would kill her if it was painted on her skin.

And most disconcerting of all, there was the fact that Sten was right: she _was_ flirting with him, and she didn’t know why. It wasn’t like she was only just now noticing how attractive he was, after all; she had found him oddly compelling since the moment they had met, and she had always enjoyed the way he loomed over her with his height and his bulk. But even despite finding Sten attractive, it had never occurred to Yara to do anything about it. She and Sten had been travelling together for a year, and it had never occurred to her to try any moves on him. 

But now she’d seen him half-naked. Now she’d felt the heat of his bare skin against her side as they faced off on the forecastle deck, not to mention the intoxicating and primal scent of his sweat, and… and was she really so shallow that the sight of Sten shirtless had turned her idle attraction into a full-blown infatuation? 

_Bloody Zevran and Oghren,_ she thought ruefully. They’d clearly gotten into her head with their stupid nautical puns. She took a deep breath, but this only made matters worse: she could still smell him. His sweat was on her clothes and her skin from their training. 

Mythal’s mercy, she needed a bath. One of the crew had mentioned to her that they pulled up buckets of seawater to wash with. She needed to find someone who could show her how that was done. 

She pushed herself upright and began loosening her hair from its bun, hoping that the fragrance of her own hair would drown out the salty scent of Sten’s sweat. But before she could leave the cabin, the door opened.

Her belly did a nauseating little leap as Sten stepped inside. Oblivious to her discomfiture, he held out a wooden dish. 

She took it dumbly. It contained a hardtack biscuit, a slice of dried meat and half an orange. 

She looked up at him wordlessly, and he folded his arms. “You didn’t go to the galley,” he said. “You must eat to maintain your strength. You will require every advantage if you hope to injure me with your diminutive fists.”

His voice was utterly neutral, but his words were an obvious playful taunt, and he still smelled so damned good, and – and Sylaise save her, she couldn’t be in this tiny cabin with him right now. 

“Thank you,” Yara said in a strangled voice. “I – I’ll eat this here. Go on back outside and get some fresh air. I’ll join you soon.” She sat back down on the bedroll and started picking at the biscuit. 

Thankfully, Sten took his cue and stepped back toward the door. “Do not remain here too long,” he warned. “You’ll get seasick.” He closed the door behind himself, leaving her alone but regretfully still ensconced in his scent.

She sighed, then listlessly began eating the breakfast he’d brought her. He wasn’t wrong, after all; she needed to build her strength if she wanted to land a good punch on Sten. 

If only her _other_ motives toward him were so simple to discern. 

**********************

After her breakfast, Yara took a well-needed bath and spent some time chatting with one of the few elven sailors. She got a lesson on maritime navigation with the ship’s pilot and played fetch with Fen’ain for a while using an old ball that one of the crew had given him. By the time the evening meal was being shared out, Yara was feeling fortified enough to spend some more time with Sten. 

She decided to bring him his dinner as thanks for having brought her breakfast. He was alone on the forecastle deck as usual, and when Yara joined him, she was amused to note that he was reading _The Rose of Orlais_ again.

He looked up at her approach and nodded his thanks when she set the laden tray on the bench between them. Yara resisted teasing him about the novel today, given her lingering confusion about her own romantic feelings, so she didn’t say anything at all. 

True to form, Sten didn’t mind her silence. By the time they were settled side-by-side on the bench and eating their bowls of spicy fish stew, neither of them had spoken, yet Yara was feeling more at ease in his presence than she had all day. 

She blew on another spoonful of stew before delicately taking a bite. As she was savouring the sting of Rivaini spice at the back of her tongue, Sten spoke to her. “I have been thinking, _kadan_. About your lack of purpose.” 

She swallowed her stew and looked at him. “Go on?”

“The human Warden. Alistair. You supported his wish to remain a Grey Warden,” Sten said.

“Yes, I did,” she said. She tilted her head. “You never did tell me what you thought about the Landsmeet and what I did there. You usually have an opinion about these things.”

He frowned slightly. “That is false. Sten of the _beresaad_ do not concern themselves with _bas_ politics.”

Yara gave him a knowing smirk. He might not be invested in the outcome of Ferelden politics, but that never stopped him from making snide remarks about anything he thought was foolish or illogical. 

He ignored her smirk and went on. “I ask about this now because I want to know your thinking.”

She lowered her spoon thoughtfully. “You’re wondering why I supported Alistair staying a Warden instead of going along with Eamon’s plan to make him the king, you mean?”

Sten nodded, and Yara thoughtfully tapped her spoon on the edge of her bowl. “It just made more sense,” she said. “Not just for Alistair to stay a Warden, but for Anora to stay as the queen. Eamon wanted Alistair to be the king just because he has royal blood, but… honestly, Sten, I don’t care about royal blood. That matters to humans, but not to us Dalish. Being related to someone who was once a king doesn’t make you any more qualified to be a king.”

“I agree,” Sten said.

She gave him a small smile before going on. “It only matters that the person in charge is good at their job. If that’s the case, then it made sense for Anora to keep being the queen. She was already ruling Ferelden before Maric died, from what most people were saying. She kept on ruling it even when Loghain was riling up a civil war. She’s competent, so there’s no logical reason for her not to stay queen.”

Sten nodded slowly. “I see.”

She shot him a wry look. “Let me guess: you think women shouldn’t be rulers of the country.”

“Women make excellent rulers,” Sten said, much to Yara’s surprise. “But they should not be in charge of the army. That is not their place.”

Yara frowned slightly. “Anora isn’t in charge of the army. She has generals who run the army.”

“Yet those generals answer to her,” Sten said.

“I… well, yes, that’s true,” Yara admitted. “But…” She faltered, then cocked her head. “Wait, I’m confused. You think a woman would make a good ruler, but that female rulers can’t run the army. But the queen is always technically the head of the army, so… so what are you suggesting?”

“There are other ways to govern,” Sten said. “My people are run by the _salasari_. The… triumvirate, in your tongue. The Arigena, the Ariqun, and the Arishok.”

Yara blinked. “You – you have three leaders? I thought the Arishok was the qunari king.”

“Many _bas_ think this,” Sten said. “It is a misperception born of ignorance.”

Yara snorted. “First I’m small, and now I’m ignorant?”

“You are small, yes,” Sten said, “but not completely ignorant. You are asking questions, are you not?”

She smiled wryly at his constant references to her short stature. “I am indeed asking questions,” she said. “So enlighten me.”

He scoffed softly before replying. “The Arigena governs our craftsmen. The Ariqun is the head of our priesthood. The Arishok leads our armies. Responsibilities are shared, ensuring that the most competent person is in charge of each.”

“And I suppose all three of those leaders are men?” she said dryly.

“No, _kadan_ ,” he said wearily. “I just told you that women are better administrators. The Arigena is female. The Ariqun can be female or male.”

Yara straightened. “So you admit that women and men can be equally good at some things!”

Sten gave her an exasperated look. “If this is your attempt to argue that your female fists can punch me effectively, it is a very weak one.”

She chuckled. “You’ll eat your words with a few days of training, you’ll see.”

Sten huffed, and they ate their food in a friendly silence for a couple of minutes. Then Sten spoke again. “Your involvement in deciding Alistair’s fate is something a tamassran would do. Perhaps you are a woman after all.”

Yara looked up at him sharply, but he was still blithely eating his stew. She grinned at him, then started laughing, and when the corners of his eyes crinkled, she laughed even harder still. 

“Are you trying to provoke me into punching you again?” she said.

“If you did, it would only prove me right,” Sten said.

Yara chuckled. “Ass,” she said fondly.

“Hm,” Sten murmured. He took another bite of stew, and Yara grinned and stirred her food idly for a moment before speaking again. 

“To be honest, I also… well, you heard Alistair,” she said. “He loved being a Warden. He didn’t want to be the King of Ferelden. I wasn’t about to talk him into doing something that he really didn’t want to do.” Then she paused as she realized that that wasn’t really true. She had talked Alistair into sleeping with Morrigan the night before the battle, and the fact that it was a life-or-death situation didn’t make her feel any better about it.

Sten’s stern voice broke her from her guilty thoughts. “You based your decision on what he wanted?”

“In part, yes,” Yara said. “I didn’t want him to be miserable.”

He frowned at her, but his frown was pensive rather than disapproving. “This is one of your flaws, _kadan_ ,” he said. “You place too much value on what people want and not enough on who they are.”

She drew back slightly. “That’s not true. I think it’s really important to know who people are. I just think that people should have a say in who they’re going to be.”

Sten shook his head. “It is not up to them to decide. Every person is but a piece of the whole: a tool whose purpose is to build harmony and peace for everyone. To know yourself is to know the purpose you are meant to serve.”

She wrinkled her nose slightly at the idea of being seen as a tool. “But don’t you think the pieces would do a better job of serving the whole if they liked the job they were doing?” she asked.

“It is not a matter of liking,” Sten said. “It is not a matter of what they want. It simply is. There is no ‘want’ or ‘don’t want’. There is acceptance of the world, or there is struggle against nature itself.”

Yara tilted her head. “Nothing is ever that simple, Sten.”

“Isn’t it?” he said. “You did not want to be a Grey Warden. You told me this yourself. And yet you completed your mission. You defeated an archdemon and ended the Blight before it could cross the bounds of your country. You did not want to be a Warden, but you are exemplary in your role.”

She drew back slightly, thrown off by his bluntness and his compliment. “Y-yes, I suppose, but…” She trailed off and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. Just because she’d done her duty as a Grey Warden didn’t mean she liked being one. But according to Sten, she should be finding fulfillment anyway from having done her duty. 

She sat with her head in her hand for a while, stew forgotten as she tried to sort through her thoughts. Then she lifted her face and looked at him. “You’re telling me that you never question your purpose?” she said. “You never wish you’d been able to do something else? Like… like being an _ashkaari_! You’re a curious person. I know you like to learn. Don’t you sometimes wish you could have been an _ashkaari_ instead?”

Sten frowned slightly. “Wishing is an illusion. It gives the impression of conflict when there is nothing to struggle against.”

She raised her eyebrows knowingly. “That’s not exactly an answer, Sten.”

“It is a sufficient answer for me,” he said.

Yara sighed, then continued eating her now-cold stew, but Sten wasn’t finished talking yet. “You are trying to discover your purpose without guidance, _kadan_ ,” he said quietly. “It is natural to ask questions.”

She shrugged a little sadly. Then she shot him a sly look. “Isn’t it the tamassrans’ role to answer these questions, though? Aren’t you being kind of womanly by talking to me about all of this?”

His eyebrows jumped up. Then he snorted. “Fine. I will resume my reading.” He put his empty dish aside and picked up his book.

“Reading?” Yara said innocently. “Don’t you mean ‘studying’?”

“ _Parshaara_ ,” he muttered. “I require silence now.”

Yara chuckled and folded her legs on the bench, then quietly finished eating her dinner. Eventually Fen’ain trotted onto the deck to join them and rested his head on her knee, and Yara petted his furry head while Sten sat reading quietly beside her, and as the sky slowly blended from afternoon into evening, Yara’s melancholy faded into a soothing feeling of peace.

It wasn’t until late that night, when she and Sten were preparing for bed, that her newly-discovered infatuation reared its head again. Yara was sitting cross-legged on the bed and combing her hair, and Sten was already tucked in his bedroll – or half-tucked in the bedroll, at least: only his legs were covered, and his entire naked torso was on display. 

She eyed him as she ran her comb through her hair. She couldn’t get over the breadth of his shoulders and how packed with muscle his chest was. It was one thing to have him towering over her in a full set of armour, but now that the armour was gone and she realized how much of his bulk was just, well, _him_ , it was… 

Intimidating. No, not intimidating, because she wasn’t afraid of him. But… no, perhaps she did mean intimidating. Having his bulk looming over her during training had been pretty overwhelming. Imagine if he was looming over her in other ways. Like… like if she was lying back in bed, and he was– 

“You are staring again,” he said.

Oh gods, she was. She really was acting like an adolescent idiot. She dropped her gaze to her lap. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just…” She scrambled for something to say other than _I like your naked chest._

“Do you think I should go shirtless?” she blurted. Then she instantly wanted to slap herself for her stupidity.

Sten frowned slightly. “Why?”

“To, um, blend in,” she stammered. “When we get to Par Vollen. If your people go around with no shirts on…”

He gave her a chiding look. “We have clothing for our upper bodies, _kadan_. But such clothing is not obligatory. And our clothing is not designed to be pulled over the head.”

“Why…? Oh, horns,” she said. “Right, right.” She eyed his hornless head, then looked down at her lap again so as not to embarrass herself further by gaping at him. 

She began braiding her hair loosely for sleep. But as she was tying the end of the braid with a strip of linen, Sten spoke again. “Qunari women usually wear something on their chests. A… a sort of cropped garment to keep their breasts in place. I do not know the word for it in your language.”

_Breasts._ Sten had just said the word ‘breasts’. 

Yara ignored her suddenly thumping heart and met his gaze as calmly as she could. “Oh,” she said. “That’s, um, interesting.” She fastened her braid, then took a deep breath to gather her courage. 

“Is the garment something like this?” she asked. And before she could stop to think, before she could talk herself out of what she was about to do, she boldly pulled her loose linen shirt over her head, leaving her torso bare but for her cropped Dalish vest. 

Sten’s eyes dropped to her breasts. His gaze roamed slowly from her low neckline to her bare midriff, and Yara could feel her face going hot under the weight of his scrutiny. His face was so impassive, and there was no reason for her to think his inspection was anything other than platonic. But by the time his gaze finally returned to her face, her pulse was sending a flush of heat to more than just her cheeks, and her heart was pounding in more places than just her chest. 

“The qunari garment is something like that,” he said. “But it crosses the chest rather than lacing at the front.”

His eyes were such a pretty colour. They were like amethysts standing out against the smoky backdrop of his skin, and Yara stared stupidly at them for a moment before remembering herself.

“Oh,” she said. She nervously licked her lips.

Sten’s eyes dropped to her mouth, and Yara stopped breathing.

_I want to kiss you._ The thought surged from the back of her mind, like a darkspawn whisper but more unexpected and somehow more dangerous, and for a moment, Yara was terrified that she’d said it out loud.

Sten’s expression was still impassive. His eyes were still on her mouth. Panicked and intimidated by the neutrality of his rugged face, she dropped his brilliant amethyst gaze. 

“All right, well, goodnight,” she said. She reached up and extinguished the oil lamp that hung from the bracer on the wall, then lay down on her side facing the wall. 

And that’s when she realized that the pillow smelled like him. It smelled like salt and heat and the faint brand of sweetness of sleepy skin – smells that only a lover usually knew. 

Yara closed her eyes and tried to focus on the weight of her body instead of the perfume of the pillow, but that didn’t help; her pulse was beating between her legs, and it was a cruel reminder of her unintentional celibacy. It had been over a year since she’d last lain with Fenarel, before that cursed mirror had stolen both her and Tamlen’s lives. It had been over a year since she’d been touched more intimately than a handshake or a hug, and over a year since she’d felt the urge to even touch herself. But now – now, with the image of Sten’s scarred body in her mind and the fragrance of his skin filling her lungs… 

She took a deep breath through her lips and tried her best to relax. She’d told Sten that she had followed him on this journey in the hopes of finding her purpose. But now, as she lay in bed tortured by the reality of his big hard body on the floor beside her, she was realizing that perhaps a purpose wasn’t the only thing she was chasing across the Amaranthine Ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chanting] Shirtless Sten shirtless Sten SHIRTLESS STEN
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for anyone who would like to join in!


	4. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEAUTIFUL art of Sten, Yara and Fen'ain is by [Lethendralis on Tumblr!](https://lethendralis-paints.tumblr.com/) xoxo

_A traveler asked the Ashkaari: "What was your vision of our purpose?"  
The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story."_

_A vast granite statue stands on an island, holding back the sea.  
The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world.  
The sea drowns its feet with every tide.  
The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back.  
The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again.  
The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.  
Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against._

\- The Soul Canto  
***************************

The journey to Par Vollen unfolded in a series of surprisingly fair-weather days. Yara and Sten soon slipped into a new routine of training twice per day: once with weapons in the morning before breakfast, and another session of hand-to-hand combat before the evening meal.

On the first day that they started hand-to-hand combat, however, Yara was met with a surprise: Sten didn’t seem entirely confident on what he was doing. Their sessions seemed to involve a lot of trial-and-error, and Yara often found herself standing idly while Sten inspected her body, almost as though he was trying to assess her value as a weapon. When he finally instructed her to hit him, he only seemed annoyed when he easily deflected her strikes. 

On the third day of this sort of haphazard training, Yara eventually held up a hand to stop him. “Sten, is something wrong?” she asked. 

“I do not want an audience,” he said.

Yara blinked in surprise. That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. 

She glanced at the deck, where a handful of sailors were casually watching their sparring. It wasn’t unusual for a few crew members to watch while she and Sten were training, and Sten had never expressed a problem with it before. 

“You don’t want them watching us at all anymore?” she said. That was going to be a bit difficult to achieve, since the ship was not very big. She and Sten had been doing all their training on the forecastle deck where they were mostly out of the way, and seeing as the forecastle was raised, it would be quite difficult for the crew to not watch them at all.

“The weapons training, yes,” Sten said. “But this? No.”

She raised her eyebrows, feeling increasingly nonplussed. Why did it matter if the crew were watching weapons training or hand-to-hand? But Sten’s tone was firm, and Yara knew only too well how futile it was to argue with him when he was this adamant.

“All right,” she said. “I can ask them not to watch for now.” 

He nodded brusquely, and Yara drifted down to cajole the crew into not watching during their hand-to-hand sessions. When she and Sten were alone and unobserved on the forecastle deck again, she tilted her head.

“Why don’t you want them watching our hand-to-hand training?” she asked. She offered him a little smile. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of letting them see you get bested by a woman.”

Sten gave her a chiding look, then turned away. “I have little experience fighting such a small opponent.”

Yara _tsk_ ed and planted her hands on her hips. “All right, I get it, I’m small and frail and you’re big and huge. Why does that–”

He cut her off. “I don’t know how to train you without the advantage of weapons,” he said. “I do not know how to make you stronger in this. This is a weakness. Such weakness should not be… witnessed.” He shot a suspicious look at the crew, who had returned to their posts by now.

Yara tilted her head. “But we knew from the start that I’m weaker than you. That’s the whole point.”

Sten shook his head. “You misunderstand. The weakness is not yours. It is mine.”

She stared at him in rising confusion. “Sten, I… I don’t know what you mean. How is my lack of ability _your_ weakness?”

“To know something is to possess the power to master it,” he explained. “In the lack of knowing lies weakness.”

Yara raised her eyebrows, then frowned as the meaning of what he’d said sank in. “So… hang on. So you think it’s a weakness anytime that you don’t know how to do something?”

“I am a sten of the _beresaad_ ,” he said firmly. “I am a soldier and a fighter. It is my duty to know how to fight, and how to train my companions to do the same. But I don’t know how to train you to best me.” He bowed his head to her. “I lack mastery in this, _kadan_. I am sorry.”

She blinked at him in utter bemusement. “But… but Sten, we just got started. You can’t expect to be a master at this right away.”

“It should not be this difficult,” he insisted. “The principles should be the same. We are both intelligent beings of muscle and bone. But your fists are so small and ineffectual. I do not know how to get around this problem.” 

He looked so put out by her small and ineffectual fists that Yara couldn’t help it: she laughed. 

He scowled at her, and she raised her hands in surrender. “Listen, I think I can help. I used to scrap a little bit with the boys in my clan. They did a lot of horsing around or tripping each other up since it was all in fun and no one really wanted to hurt each other.” She shrugged. “Maybe we could use the same ideas here.”

Sten stared at her. “...horsing around?”

“Yes,” she said. “You know, like… like plowing into someone’s belly and throwing them off balance so they’d fall down. Or kicking someone in the back of the knees so they’d land on their knees and be caught off-guard.”

His face cleared suddenly. “You find a way to bring me down, and if I fall, you can strike me with greater force while I am caught off-guard.”

“Yes, exactly!” Yara said brightly. 

Sten nodded decisively. “Yes. This is a good strategy. A good way to use your smaller size as a benefit and not a hindrance.”

Yara chuckled and folded her arms. “Good to know I’m not a hindrance despite my tiny size.”

For a brief moment, a hint of a smile lit the corners of his lips. “I did not say ‘tiny’, _kadan_. You are not an _imekari_.”

“I’m certainly not,” she replied.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how provocative they sounded. Sten’s eyebrows rose, and when his eyes darted over her body, her heart jolted nervously in her chest.

His eyes returned to her face. “Are you flirting again?” he asked.

She nervously licked her lips, then boldly lifted her chin. “Maybe I am.”

He stared at her without replying, and she stared back at him in all his shirtless glory. For a tense moment, neither of them spoke, and when Yara felt like her heart might beat its way straight through her throat, he finally gestured for her to approach.

“Come,” he said. “Show me a way that the men in your clan would toss each other to the ground.”

She exhaled slowly – whether with disappointment or relief, she couldn’t quite decide – then did her best to describe how her clanmates would imbalance each other to throw each other off their feet. She and Sten worked together to balance his much-greater weight against her agility, and by the time their session was finished, Yara had managed to get Sten to his knees, and his face looked more relaxed than it had all day. 

“Good,” he said. “You are improving already. This is good.”

She smiled at him and wiped her forehead. “We make a good team.”

“We have been a good team for some time,” Sten replied. 

She smiled more broadly. She knew his compliment was entirely professional, but it didn’t stop her ears from heating up or the butterflies from fluttering in her belly.

She ducked her head and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes. All right. I’ll, um, this will be good to get back into tomorrow.” 

Sten nodded and rose to his full towering height, and her heart kicked into her throat once more. His chest was rising and falling with exertion and his muscles were lined with sweat, and Mythal save her, he smelled so damned good… 

Her pulse suddenly throbbed between her legs. She gulped in a breath of his sharp and salty scent, then stepped back and waved haphazardly at him before scurrying away to bathe. 

In the days that followed, their hand-to-hand sessions became more and more focused and satisfying, though Yara was still having difficulty getting Sten into a vulnerable enough position to strike him hard. When they weren’t training, they often sat together while doing their own quiet activities. Sten spent a lot of time reading, and Yara wondered if he was hoping to finish _The Rose of Orlais_ before they arrived in Par Vollen. For her part, Yara spent quite a bit of time just sitting with him and thinking while playing fetch with Fen’ain. She could be reading too, if she wanted to; Brother Genitivi had given her a small book containing essays and analyses of his own about the Grey Wardens, and Yara did want to read the book at some point. But for some reason, she was reluctant to pull the book out of her satchel right now. 

Instead, she sat with Sten and let her mind wander as she watched the clouds scudding across the sky. She thought about her former companions and wondered what they were up to: was Alistair with the Orlesian Wardens now? Had Shale and Wynne already set off on their trip to Tevinter? What sort of mischief might Zevran be getting up to? Had Oghren gone to find Felsi yet, and where in Mythal’s name had Morrigan gone? 

She thought about her clan, too. She still felt wistful for the simplicity and certainty of her life as a Dalish hunter, as well as longing for Ashalle and Fenarel and Marethari and for poor Tamlen too. But cutting through her longing was an ugly but persistent thread of bitterness. She still couldn’t decide whether she was more angry at Marethari for handing her over to Duncan, or at the entire clan for packing up and leaving instead trying harder to find Tamlen. If only they’d managed to find him, maybe he could have joined the Grey Wardens as well. If only they’d taken a little more time to look for him, maybe he wouldn’t have risen up as a blighted ruin of a man choking out his love for her through twisted and blackened lips while attacking her at the same time–

“ _Kadan_?”

She jolted and looked up at Sten. “Yes?”

“Your hands,” he said. 

She looked down at her hands, and her gut twisted with dismay; her left wrist was reddened. She’d been scratching unconsciously at the skin on wrist – a bad habit that Ashalle had always gently scolded her about, especially when she was a child and prone to scratching until the skin was raw. Ashalle had stitched her some soft ram-leather cuffs to stop her from scratching herself raw, and eventually the habit had gone away, for the most part at least. 

She forced herself to relax her fingers and looked up at Sten. “Can you read to me from your book?” she asked.

He frowned, and for a moment Yara thought he was going to refuse. But his response took her by surprise. “I am several chapters ahead of where I was the last time I read to you,” he said. “You will not understand what’s happening.”

“So tell me what I missed, then,” she said.

“Why should I do that?” he asked.

She smiled pleadingly. “Because it’s fun?”

Sten shot her a very skeptical look, and she laughed. “All right, that was a terrible way to convince you, I’ll admit. Pretend I’m the Arishok and you’re giving me a report on your book so far.”

“The Arishok would not want a report on this drivel,” Sten said flatly.

She gave him a sly look. “So why are you still reading it, then?”

Sten frowned and returned his gaze to his book, and Yara immediately felt guilty. “I’m sorry, Sten,” she said. “I shouldn’t tease. Honestly, I think it’s great that you’re reading that book.”

He didn’t look at her, and he didn’t reply. As the silence stretched tensely between them, Yara began to wonder sadly if she should leave him alone. 

Just as she was about to rise from the bench, he spoke. “You have missed very little. The chevalier went to a tourney. He did not win, but instead of accepting the responsibility for his own failure, he became petulant and drunk.” He raised an eyebrow. “This appears to be a common theme among _bas_. There was also a suggestive drunken encounter with the noblewoman on a balcony.” He shot Yara a flat look. “The elf assassin would have called it ‘titillating’.”

Yara smiled, relieved that he was speaking to her again. “All right. That’s a great summary.”

He nodded, then began reading out loud, and Yara smiled to herself as she relaxed into his soothing baritone.

The days continued to blend together in a pleasant and unhurried flow. It soon became routine for Sten to read to Yara a little bit each day, and these quickly became the most calming parts of her day. She would sometimes make comments during Sten’s reading-out-loud sessions, prompting him to make dry or sarcastic replies, and eventually the focus of their sessions morphed from reading out loud to talking. 

One day, as Sten was opening _The Rose of Orlais_ , Yara tilted her head. “I’ve still been thinking, you know,” she said. “About that parable you told me. The one with the _ashkaari_ and the laundress.”

He nodded. “Have you determined the meaning yet?” 

“No, not yet,” she said. “But I was wondering. The way you told it was… perfect. Like you’d done it before. So I was wondering if you – if qunari, I mean – do you memorize all your fables so you can just recite them anytime?”

Sten nodded. “It is a part of mastering the Qun. To understand the Qun, you must first know the words. We recite them over and over as _imekari_ until they become as familiar as our own faces in the mirror.”

Yara raised her eyebrows. That sounded like a harsh way to teach children, but it had clearly worked in Sten’s case. “Do you ever take a little creative licence when you’re retelling the parables?” she asked.

He frowned curiously. “‘Creative licence’? What is this?”

“It means changing the original story a bit, or adding interesting details to make it more, er, interesting.” She grimaced at her own implication that Sten’s parables were boring. “Or, um… well, I guess it would defeat the point of memorizing it if you were changing the story.”

Sten put his book aside. “These are not stories, _kadan_. They are lessons passed down by the Great Ashkaari Koslun. It is not my place to alter the wisdom that has governed my people for ages.”

Yara nodded, but she couldn’t help but feel a little skeptical about whether the stories – sorry, _lessons_ – really were exactly the same as they were when the Askhaari Koslun had first come up with them. All stories or lessons changed with time and telling, after all. 

Then Sten spoke again. “I sometimes imagine the _ashkaari_ wearing armour made of dawnstone instead of iron or steel.” 

Yara looked at him in surprise. “Dawnstone? But… but dawnstone is pink.”

Sten nodded. “An _ashkaari_ in pink armour. It is… frivolous.”

Yara stared at him, then slowly smiled. “You think it’s funny to imagine the _ashkaari_ in pink armour.” 

Sten smirked, and Yara had to resist the sudden urge to hug him. Before she could say anything else, he spoke again. “Your people. Your Dalish clan. Do you have fables?”

“Yes,” she said. “We have nine gods, and we have stories about all of them. Do you want to hear one?”

Sten nodded, and Yara smiled. “All right. You’ll have to bear with me, though, I’m not much a storyteller.” She settled herself facing him on the bench. “I’ll tell you about Mythal and Elgar’nan. Once upon a time, there was only the sun and the land, and there were no gods. Then the sun and the land had a child–”

“The sun and land had a child?” Sten said. “That is impossible.”

Yara gave him a patient look. “Sten, do I interrupt you when you’re telling me parables?”

He sat back. “You are right. Go on.”

She smiled before going on. “The sun and land had a child, and he was Elgar’nan. The land, who was the mother, loved Elgar’nan and made all kind of animals and plants for him to enjoy. But the sun, who was the father, got jealous and burned all the animals and plants out of jealousy.”

Sten opened his mouth to comment, and Yara raised her eyebrows. He closed his mouth and waved for her to continue.

She continued the tale. “Elgar’nan flew into a rage and leapt into the sky to fight the sun. The sun was strong, but Elgar’nan was so angry that he was stronger, so he cast the sun down to the earth into a… a crevasse, I guess, and he was imprisoned there. But because the sun was gone, everything on the land started to die.”

“But everything was already dead from being burned by the sun,” Sten pointed out.

“Oh. You’re right,” Yara said blankly. “I never thought of that.” She paused and wrinkled her nose, then waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, the sun was shoved deep into the earth, and the earth was so sad that she began crying. That’s how all the oceans and seas came to be. The land begged Elgar’nan to forgive his father, but he wouldn’t. That’s when Mythal came out of the sea, born from the land’s tears, and she convinced Elgar’nan to change his mind. So he pulled his father out of the crevasse inside of the earth, and they came to an agreement: the sun could shine, but he would do it gently so he wouldn’t kill everything on the earth. And, um… well, I guess that’s kind of it.” She shrugged. “The land was happy that her son and husband weren’t fighting, and Elgar’nan and Mythal lived on the land with all the animals and creatures under the sun. They gave birth to the other gods – or most of them, at least, but that's moving into other stories.”

Sten didn’t speak for a moment. When Yara raised her eyebrows at him, he frowned. “You are finished?”

“Yes,” she said. “That’s the end of the story.”

His frown deepened. “But there was no lesson. There was no point.”

She smiled. “No, it – it wasn’t really a lesson sort of story. It’s just a story of how the world was made.”

“But you established from the start that the world already existed,” he argued. “The land and the sun already existed.”

“Yes, but the animals and creatures didn’t,” Yara said. “Nothing was alive on the land.”

“But why was the land alive?” he asked. “Why was the sun alive?” 

He looked so affronted, and Yara had to force herself not to laugh. “It’s a metaphor, Sten. Or – not a metaphor, but… look, it’s just a story. It’s just for fun.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Your culture is premised on stories that make no sense and have no meaning?”

She burst out a laugh. “Sten! That’s so rude! And besides, those stories aren’t what our entire culture is based on. It’s – it’s just a part of it. It’s our heritage, but it’s not how we live.”

He stared at her. “The stories you tell your children are not lessons, and you do not live by them? This is ludicrous.”

“There are different stories for different reasons,” she explained. “The ones that we tell around the fire at night are not the same as the ones that govern how we live our lives. We live by things like the Vir Tanadhal, which is the hunter’s code. But stories like the one I told you are just for fun. They’re… they’re like children’s stories.”

“But the stories you tell your _imekari_ and the code by which they live should be one and the same,” Sten said.

She gazed fondly at him. “There are different ways of doing things. I was raised by the Dalish with our no-lesson children’s stories and I’m not so bad, right?”

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and Yara shrugged. “I don’t really know what else to tell you. All I can say is that sometimes a story is just for fun. It’s like when we’d sit around with Zevran and Alistair and the others and chat.” She pulled a little face. “Or, well, I guess you didn’t really join us when we did that…” 

“I did this with my brothers in the _beresaad_ ,” Sten said. “We… chatted.”

“All right, then it’s like that,” she said. “The stories are just something interesting to talk about. A way to entertain. Like that book,” she added with a nod to _The Rose of Orlais_ , which still sat unopened in his lap. “There’s no lesson in there. It’s just for fun.”

He frowned pensively, and Yara idly swung her bare feet as she waited for him to speak. When he did, he surprised her yet again. “I would like to hear another story.”

She raised her eyebrows. “All right, if you like. Um… I can tell you about Andruil. She’s the goddess of hunting–”

“No, not a story of your gods,” he said. “A story about you.”

Her eyes widened. “About _me_?”

“Yes,” he said. “Tell me a story of yourself. For… fun.”

Yara stared wordlessly at him, thrown off by his request. She didn’t particularly like talking about herself, preferring instead to deflect people’s questions back to themselves so she could listen instead of talk. But now that Sten had asked, she was realizing that he didn’t know very much about her life before they’d met, despite the year they’d spent travelling together. 

She awkwardly ran her fingers through her hair. “I… um, I guess I can think of something.” She gave him a challenging look. “But only if you tell me a story about yourself after.”

He frowned slightly, then nodded. “This is a fair exchange. I agree.”

She smiled. “All right. Well, um… I guess I can tell you about a time that Fenarel and I almost burned down the Keeper’s aravel. It was a very dry summer, and this was about fifteen years ago…” 

Yara continued her tale, and when she was finished, Sten told her a tale of his own about one of his brothers cooking the wrong sort of mushroom and making their entire squad hallucinate. And for the rest of that afternoon, they exchanged small stories of their lives, and Sten didn’t even open _The Rose of Orlais._

The journey continued, and so did their new routine of talking about their lives and their cultures and even their respective languages instead of reading. Yara sometimes felt guilty about interrupting Sten’s reading, but she was enjoying their conversations too much to stop. 

On one particular occasion, about ten days into the trip, Yara was sitting beside him and idly twisting the front of her hair into a simple braided crown when she noticed that he was staring at her rather blatantly.

Her belly did a nervous little jolt, and she paused in her braiding. “Sten, is everything okay?”

“You are a redhead,” he said. 

Yara smiled uncertainly. She had absolutely no idea where he was going with this. “Yes,” she said.

“But your hair is not red,” Sten said. “I have been thinking about this term, ‘redhead’. It is inaccurate. Your hair is orange. Perhaps with a bit of gold when the sun is bright. They should call you an ‘orange-head.’” 

Her heart did a little flip at his flattering description of her hair colour. She was sure he didn’t mean to compliment her, but it felt good anyway. 

She smiled shyly and went back to braiding her hair. “That doesn’t really have the same ring to it. ‘Orange-head’ doesn’t sound quite as sexy as ‘redhead’.”

“Sexy?” Sten said.

She pressed her lips together. The word had slipped out without her thinking about it. She ignored her burning cheeks and shrugged as casually as she could. “You know, um… attractive. In a… sexual way.”

His frown deepened. “Sex has nothing to do with the colour of hair.”

For a split second, Yara gaped at him, flustered by hearing him saying anything about sex with such certainty. Did he carry that same certainty when he was actually in the throes?

_Stop it, Yara,_ she scolded herself. Already a thrill of heat was starting to thrum through her blood. Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze and continued to braid her hair. “I know it doesn’t. But, um. There are just, um, common beliefs about people who have red hair.”

“What kind of beliefs?” he asked.

“They say we’re… hot-headed and temperamental,” she said reluctantly. “Quick to anger or to get passionate about things. And that we, um…” She swallowed hard. “That we’re, um, passionate sex partners.”

“I understand,” Sten said.

She darted a cautious look at him. “You understand what?”

“The metaphor,” he said. “Red hair is like fire. That is the metaphor.”

“Oh,” Yara said dumbly. “Yes, that’s – yes, exactly.”

Sten grunted, apparently pleased to have sorted out the linguistic mystery. Then he gave her an appraising look. “You are not like this. You are not fierce-tempered or quick to passion.”

Her heart sank a bit at this. Sten didn’t think she was fierce or passionate? Did that mean he thought she wouldn’t be a good lover, either? 

Oh, what in Sylaise’s name was she even thinking? It’s not like Sten was thinking about her sexually at all. She let out a self-deprecating little laugh to hide her dismay. “I know. I’m kind of a disappointment that way.”

He frowned. “That is not what I said. What I mean is that you are not like a flame. You are more like an ember.” 

She frowned curiously as Sten went on. “An ember is steady. It retains the warmth of the hearth rather than dying out in a flash of light and heat. It is no less hot than the flame itself. And when one attempts to blow the ember out, it only flares brighter.” He gave her a frank look. “That is not disappointing, _kadan_. The ember is superior to the flame in its own way, and just as useful.”

She gaped at him. What he’d just said was so… so _nice_. So thoughtful and… well, rather romantic, really. 

Creators save her from herself, she wanted to straddle his lap. 

She suppressed the lewd thought and smiled at him despite her burning cheeks. “Sten, are you flirting with me?”

His eyebrows leapt up. “Flirt–? No. It’s–” He scowled. “ _Vashedan_. Let us speak of something else.”

She laughed and patted his knee. “I’m just teasing! It was a really nice thing to say. Thank you.”

His scowl deepened. “I did not mean to flirt. I was speaking the truth.”

“That’s what makes it so nice. Thank you,” she said softly.

“You are welcome,” he grumbled. He cleared his throat, then opened his book for the first time that day, and Yara watched with a thrill of nerves and hope as he read his book with a more focused sort of attention than usual. Maybe Sten hadn’t meant to flirt, but he had complimented her, and not on something relating to her combat form or her leadership skills. And he had said that other nice thing about her hair being golden in the sunlight…

Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe she was just reading too much into it because _she_ was so attracted to him. 

Or maybe it meant that her feelings weren’t completely one-sided after all. 

****************

Later that night in their cabin, Yara combed her hair and watched Sten surreptitiously as he washed his face in the basin in the corner and brushed his teeth. The muscles in his broad shoulders were rippling as he bent over the basin, and her eyes traced along the smoky grey expanse of his back to admire the scar on his left flank, as well as another smaller scar on his right shoulder. When he turned around, she hastily looked away from him and continued combing her hair. 

Sten slid into the bedroll on the floor and folded his arms behind his head, and a spark of lust danced down her spine. The definition in his abs was easier to admire with his arms raised, and his biceps were as thick around as her thigh, and… 

And he looked content. His expression was neutral, but his forehead wasn’t creased or lined with a frown, and his gaze on her face was relaxed instead of its usual sharp focus. 

Oh Creators, he was looking right at her while she was ogling him. She dropped his gaze and combed her hair more quickly. “You look, um, happy,” she blurted. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question?”

She smiled faintly at him. Of course he had to make her innocuous remark sound like she’d said something stupid. Which, in all fairness, she had. At least he wasn’t pointing out that she was staring at him yet again. 

“Not a question. Just a comment,” she said. “You look relaxed. Content. It’s… I don’t know.” She shrugged. “You’re usually all focused and on duty.”

“I am about to go to sleep,” he said dryly.

She smiled more broadly. “You even look focused when you’re asleep. Like you have to do a really good job of getting a good night’s rest.” 

He scoffed. Yara chuckled, and they fell quiet for a moment. Then Yara tilted her head. “I do have a question for you, though. If you don’t mind my asking while you’re trying to sleep.”

He turned his head to look at her more fully. “Ask, _kadan_.” 

She nibbled the inside of her cheek for a moment. She’d been thinking about this ever since their first discussion about the difference between a purpose and a mission. She rather envied Sten’s certainty about his place in the world, and his conviction in the Qun’s worldviews was undeniable. Even so, Yara had the sense that Sten wasn’t a typical example of a qunari citizen. He said things and did things and enjoyed things that weren’t in keeping with the Qun as he described it, and whenever Yara pointed out these inconsistencies, he found some way to change the topic, whether it was by questioning _her_ culture or insisting that she train with him, or simply by saying he needed silence in order to read. 

“Are you going to ask?” he said.

“Oh,” she said blankly. “Right. I was just thinking… are you happy being qunari? Being a member of the Qun, I mean?”

Sten frowned, then slowly sat up in his bedroll. “‘Happy.’ You often use this word as though it has meaning. As though it is clearly defined and understood the same way by everyone. What does this word mean to you?”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected him to throw the question back at her so quickly. “It means… not being miserable, I suppose.”

“Misery is a choice,” Sten said. “You can choose not to be miserable.”

A little laugh escaped her lips – more of surprise than true mirth. “No you can’t,” she said. “Sometimes terrible things happen and they make you sad. That’s just… it’s normal to be miserable sometimes, Sten.”

“It is normal for terrible things to happen,” he said. “It is a choice to remain stuck in a state of misery instead of moving forward.”

She gazed at him with growing disbelief. “So you think people should just… stop being sad and move on?”

He studied her for a moment, then shook his head and lay back down. “I am not a tamassran. It is not my place to teach. Qunari do not transgress their roles.”

“Well, I’m not qunari,” she said. “And no one here is going to accuse you of stepping out of line.”

He shot her a suspicious look, and she gestured at him. “Come on, tell me. I like hearing what you have to say.”

He gave her one of those penetrating looks, and Yara waited with bated breath for him to respond. Then he sighed and sat up once more. “We have a canto in the Qun: ‘There is no chaos in the world, only complexity. Knowledge of the complex is wisdom, and from wisdom of the world comes wisdom of the self. Mastery of the self is mastery of the world. Loss of the self is the source of suffering. Suffering is a choice, and we can refuse it. It is in our own power to create the world, or destroy it.’”

Yara grimaced. “You’ll have to say that one again for me.”

Sten recited the saying a second time. Yara frowned pensively, and for a long minute, they just stared at each other in silence while she thought. 

“So… when we found you in that cage in Lothering,” she said slowly. “Was that… how was that in line with what you just said? If suffering is a choice?”

He leaned away from her slightly. “You are suggesting that I was choosing to suffer.”

“Weren’t you?” she asked.

He stared at her without speaking, and Yara winced. “I’m not trying to pick on you or make you angry. I just—”

“I am not angry,” he interrupted. “I am thinking.”

Yara nodded, and they sat silently for a while longer. Eventually Yara cleared her throat. “Were you…” She trailed off. She’d been about to ask if he was happier after he joined her, but she realized now that that question would seem foolish to him. Before she could rephrase the question, he spoke.

“When you released me from that cage, you helped me to fulfill my purpose,” he said. “You helped me to find answers in a land that harbours little wisdom. And you recovered my _asala_.”

She nodded and waited for him to go on, but it seemed that he was finished speaking for now. Yara recrossed her legs and shrugged. “Well, _I’m_ happy you decided to join us.”

He looked at her carefully. “This is what being happy means to you? Having strangers follow you?”

She snorted a little laugh. “No, of course not. But I do think being happy means being with people you love. People who love you.”

His gaze sharpened, and Yara realized with a horrified jolt that she’d basically just admitted that she loved him.

He was staring at her again in that way that felt like he was seeing straight down to her bones. “And if those people go away?” he asked. “If they die or are taken from you? If they leave your side? What then?”

_Friends dying or leaving or being taken away?_ Her breath stalled in her chest at the bluntness of his question. She thought of Tamlen and of her whole clan, and of Morrigan leaving without saying goodbye. She thought of Alistair and Zevran and Oghren, whom she’d left behind in Denerim. 

A swelling of distress filled her throat, but she refused to dwell on it. She forced herself to inhale. “I don’t know,” she said.

Sten lifted his chin slightly. “This definition of ‘happiness’ based on love is not sustainable,” he said. 

Yara scoffed and dropped his penetrating amethyst gaze. “Don’t try and tell me that qunari don’t love each other,” she said. “I don’t believe that.”

“Of course we do,” Sten said, somewhat to her surprise. “I felt love for the brothers of my _beresaad_. But love is not purpose for qunari.”

She shot him a resentful look. “Well, I’m not qunari.”

“I am aware of that, _kadan_ ,” he replied.

Despite his harsh words, his tone was quite soft, and so was his expression. To Yara’s horror, tears were suddenly rising as a hot wave in her throat and at the back of her eyes.

She hastily lay down and rolled onto her side facing the wall. A moment later, the yellowish light of the oil lamp went out, and she heard the shuffle of fabric as Sten lay down in his bedroll. 

She closed her eyes, and a trickle of tears ran down the side of her face into her Sten-scented pillow. She breathed silently through her mouth to quell the weight behind her ribs, and eventually she succeeded at quashing the tears back into her chest where they belonged. 

When her face was dry once more, she carefully rolled over onto her other side.

“Sten?” she said quietly. 

“Yes?” he murmured.

She took a slow breath, then asked him the question that had been building at the back of her mind for the past few days. “Do you think I should join the Qun?”

There was a heavy pause before he replied. “All _bas_ should join the Qun. This is the only true path to wisdom.”

_That’s not really an answer,_ she thought. And her conviction that Sten wasn’t like a typical qunari rose even higher. If he _was_ a typical qunari citizen, he would have just said yes, wouldn’t he?

Suddenly she remembered something odd that he’d said the first time they were in Redcliffe. He’d made a snide comment about the Chantry lacking in wisdom, which Yara had found rather amusing, but he’d finished his diatribe by saying something surprising. He’d said that someday his people would bring the Qun to all of Thedas, and that he hoped he would not live to see that day. 

She sidled closer to the edge of the bed and looked down at him. In the dim moonlight filtering through the porthole window, she could see that his eyes were closed, but his brow was creased in a tiny frown. 

“Sten?” she whispered.

“Yes?” he said.

“Tell me what _you_ think,” she said. “Do _you_ think I would be happier if I joined the Qun?” 

He opened his eyes to look at her. “Are you happy here on this ship?” he said. “Are you happy now?”

She gazed at him through the soft pale light of the moon. His rugged face was serious as always, but… sympathetic too, somehow. There was a subtle sort of softness in his expression — a softness to his beautiful violet eyes, perhaps, and gods save her, the piercing way he was looking at her…

She licked her lips nervously. “Yes,” she said. “I’m happy now.” 

“Then perhaps for now, that is enough,” he said. He closed his eyes once more. “Sleep, _kadan_. We can speak more in the morning.”

She smiled. “All right,” she whispered. She settled on her side facing the edge of the bed and let out a slow, relaxed breath. 

Then, after a long hard moment of thought, she reached down and gently squeezed Sten’s shoulder. 

A moment later, his big callused hand covered her fingers.

Her belly burst into a flurry of excitement. Sten gently squeezed her fingers, then released her hand. 

She smiled to herself, then closed her eyes. A minute later, with the salty-sleepy scent of Sten’s pillow beneath her cheek and his solid shoulder beneath her palm, Yara fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story that Yara ~~butchers~~ tells is based on the ‘creation’ story about Elgar’nan and Mythal, which you can read in the DA Wiki [here](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Elgar%27nan:_God_of_Vengeance) and [here.](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Mythal:_the_Great_Protector)
> 
> The hairstyle I imagine Yara doing is [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NditLfR9sJY). If I had long hair, I would try it in a heartbeat! I wonder if it’s as easy as it looks?? 
> 
> Another chapter later this week!
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to swing by! xo


	5. Asala-Ataar

_A traveler asked the Ashkaari: "What was your vision of our purpose?"  
The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story."_

_A vast granite statue stands on an island, holding back the sea.  
The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world.  
The sea drowns its feet with every tide.  
The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back.  
The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again.  
The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.  
Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against.  
The deception flows deeper. The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea.  
And is whittled away with each wave._

\- The Soul Canto  
*********************

_Lethallan._

Yara patted Tamlen’s twisted and rotting face. “It’s all right,” she insisted. “You’ll be all right. You can be a Warden.”

_No. Too late for me. Too far gone._

She shook her head vehemently. “Don’t give up. Just drink this, and you can be a Warden like me.” She gave him a cup of blood – her own blood, freshly collected from the pulsing wound in her side that Tamlen had inflicted. 

She held her blood to his lips, but it poured back down over her own hands and into the burning battlements of Ostagar, and Tamlen was gone. 

“Tamlen!” she shouted. “ _Lethallin_ , come back!” He couldn’t be far. She would just run along the battlements and climb over the mountain of corpses to find him, and then he could be a Warden too. 

He didn’t need to die. He could be a Grey Warden too.

Boulders and bodies smashed into the crumbling battlements as she ran toward the mirror. She wiped the mirror to clear its hazy surface, but instead of her reflection, she saw _his_ face: skin mottled and stretched over a mouthful of rotting teeth, hairless and ghastly. The only recognizable features were his distinctive green eyes. 

“Tamlen,” she gasped. She slammed her bloody palms against the mirror. “Tamlen, get out of there! I can save you!”

_You already did. I’m dead already._

“No,” she snapped. “No, you’re – Alistair, quick, we have to get him out!”

“Alistair is gone,” Alistair said.

She looked at him. He had Jory’s face, but that didn’t matter. “Come on, Alistair, we need to get him out,” she said urgently. “He can be a Warden like us!”

“Alistair is dead,” Jory-faced-Alistair said. “He’s dead where you left him.”

“Stop making jokes, will you?” she yelled. “This is serious!” She slammed her fists on the golem’s huge stone chest, but it was no use: Tamlen was stuck inside the golem’s body, fused inside of it with no escape, and she couldn’t get him out. 

But she _had_ to get him out. She couldn’t just leave him to die. She turned to Morrigan. “Please,” she said. “Please, help me get him out.” 

“Of course, my friend,” she said, and she shoved a dagger deep into her own gut. 

“No!” Yara cried. “Morrigan, stop!” 

The dagger plunged into Morrigan’s belly again, and Tamlen spoke to her from inside the mirror-golem-mirror. _I always loved you._

Yara sobbed. He was so close. The corpse-filled swamp was filling up with Morrigan’s blood, and it was lighting on fire everywhere that it touched, and Tamlen was so close, just on the other side of the mirror. “Please,” she begged. “I just wanted to save you.”

_I always loved you, lethallan._

“Tamlen, please,” she cried. “Come back! _Tamlen!_ ”

“ _Kadan_.”

She flinched and yelped. A hand was grasping her shoulder, and it was pitch-dark. 

“Tamlen!” she blurted. “Where–” She sat up and flailed in the dark, and her fingers found an arm, the arm that was grasping her shoulder: warm skin over hard muscle–

_Sten._ It was Sten. She was with Sten, and they were in their cabin on the Rivaini ship. 

She forced out a breath and pressed her trembling hands to her face. A moment later, the flickering golden light of the oil lamp leaked through her closed eyelids.

“You had a nightmare,” Sten said. 

She gulped in a shaky breath and looked up at him. He was standing over her, and his face was drawn in a deep frown. 

“Yes,” she rasped. “But it’s – I’m all right now.” Her heart was pounding in her ears, and her hands were still shaking, but if she lay down and breathed quietly, the shaking would stop. 

Sten was gazing silently at her, and she couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze. She briskly wiped her sweaty forehead. “I… you can go back to sleep, Sten. I’m fine, really.” 

“This is not fine,” he said.

She met his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“These nightmares,” he said. “You had them at times during our travels. I was not aware that they were this severe.”

She blinked at him quizzically. “The…? Oh. No, those were archdemon nightmares,” she explained. “That was different. Alistair had those too. This was just a normal nightmare.”

“It is not normal to scream in your sleep,” he said flatly.

She gaped at him in horror. She’d been screaming in her sleep?

She scraped her fingers through her hair. “ _Fenedhis._ Sten, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. It won’t…” She faltered. She was about to tell him that it wouldn’t happen again, but how could she promise such a thing when she couldn’t control what she dreamt about?

“What were you dreaming of?” he asked.

_Tamlen,_ she thought. _I left him to die._ She swallowed hard. “Why do you want to know?”

“Such nightmares can be a sign of illness,” Sten said. “We call it _asala-ataar_ : ‘soul sickness’, in your tongue. It is a common affliction in Seheron.”

She looked at him with fresh worry. “Soul sickness? Is that like being possessed?”

“No. It happens when a constant stream of death and destruction makes a soldier question his purpose in the Qun,” he explained. “Such questioning causes the soldier to struggle with himself, and with this struggle comes suffering. This is _asala-ataar_.”

She nodded slowly. She could see how that made sense, in a qunari sort of way. “And… and nightmares are a sign of that?”

“For some,” Sten said. “Other soldiers with _asala-ataar_ cannot sleep.”

She nibbled worriedly at the inside of her cheek. Was it possible that she had this _asala-ataar_?

“What are some other signs?” she asked.

Sten sat down on his bedroll. “They startle easily. They can be quick to anger or to cry. There can be repetitive behaviours, such as scratching or nail-biting. In the worst cases, they lash out and harm their brothers or other innocents.”

_Scratching?_ she thought in dismay. She folded her arms to hide her raw left wrist. “How… if someone has _asala-ataar_ , how do they get better?”

“The first recourse is for your brothers to help you,” Sten replied. “We have a way to divert suffering from the mind into the body, and then to expel it.”

Yara raised her eyebrows. “Really? What way is that?”

“We strike the afflicted soldier repeatedly,” he said. “Usually with a pole or a sturdy stick so as not to harm our own hands.”

Yara eyed him suspiciously. Was he joking? He didn’t look like he was joking. His mouth didn’t have that subtle little twist that meant he was having her on. 

“Wait,” she said slowly. “You… your solution is to hit the sick person with a stick?”

“Or a pole, yes,” he said. 

She stared at him. “How in Mythal’s name does that help?”

He gave her a patient look. “It is as I said: their suffering is diverted from the mind to the body. It helps clear the mind so the soldier can recall their purpose.”

Yara gaped at him. Of all the strange qunari things that Sten had told her, this had to be the absolute strangest. 

She struggled to come up with something to say. “I… don’t think it would help me to be hit with a stick right now,” she finally said. 

He shrugged. “It does not help every soldier with _asala-ataar_ , either. If it does not work, the soldier goes to the tamassrans for help. Many of them do not return to the _antaam_.” He scratched his chin. “I believe the tamassrans find new roles for them if the sickness progresses to that point.”

Yara nodded thoughtfully. Then she gave him a curious look. “How do you know so much about this? Did you have _asala-ataar_?”

“No,” he said. “But many of my brothers did. I struck many of them with sticks. You would be surprised how effective it can be.”

Yara blurted out a little laugh. “That really does surprise me.”

He gave her a faint smile. She smiled back at him, and they sat quietly for a time as she considered his words. Maybe she did have _asala-ataar_. She was feeling pretty uncertain about her purpose, after all, and she had more than one of the signs that Sten had mentioned: she had nightmares, and she’d been scratching at her skin in her sleep. 

Then something occurred to her. One of the signs that Sten had mentioned was lashing out and harming innocent people. 

That was something that Sten had done. It was what had landed him in that cage in Lothering.

She licked her lips nervously. “Sten… are you sure you’ve never had this illness?”

He raised his eyebrows, so she pressed on. “In… in Lothering. You said you lashed out at that family after your _beresaad_ got killed by darkspawn and you woke up in the barn. Could that have… didn’t that make you question your purpose at all? Did…” She trailed off as she realized how well the description of _asala-ataar_ fit with Sten’s behaviour. Sten had suffered the unexpected loss of his entire squad, then he’d violently killed that family in Lothering. She knew he’d had nightmares; she’d witnessed one of them when they were trapped in the Fade while trying to free the Tower Circle from demons. And from the sounds of it, he’d made himself suffer by letting himself be caged – a sign that he was questioning his purpose, by his own logic.

She studied his face, and a pang of sympathy pulled at her heart; his expression was stonier than usual. “You did, didn't you?” she said softly. “You had soul sickness. That’s really why you attacked that family.”

He grunted. “How could I have soul sickness when I had lost my soul? My sword was gone. I was as good as dead already.”

“But weren’t you suffering in that cage?” she said. She had asked him this yesterday, and he hadn’t really answered.

His frowned deepened. “I was not questioning my purpose. I was attempting to lessen my failure. I had failed the Arishok, and I had failed the Qun. If I had not submitted to that cage, I would have suffered the greatest failing of all: I would have become a Tal-Vashoth. That cage was my only recourse to honour my duty to the Qun.”

She studied him with a painful feeling in her chest. Despite his constant deflection, Yara was certain that Sten must have been suffering during twenty days of captivity with little to no water or food. He’d certainly looked miserable when she’d met him.

“If you were back home and feeling that way, would you have gone to the tamassrans?” she asked.

“It would not have happened if I were home,” he said sharply. Then he pursed his lips. “But… yes. In a hypothetical situation, if I had… behaved that way in Seheron, I would have been sent to the tamassrans for help.” He shot her a wry look. “In case you did not notice, however, there are no tamassrans in Ferelden.”

Yara widened her eyes. “Are you sure about that? I thought I might have spotted one in Orzammar.”

Sten huffed. “Amusing.”

Yara smiled at him, and they fell quiet once more. Then he sighed. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I did have _asala-ataar_.” He looked her in the eye. “But you fixed that. I will fulfill my mission to the Arishok in less than two weeks, and this is only possible because of you.”

Her belly fluttered with nerves. He was giving her one of those special piercing looks, and her pulse was kicking up again for reasons other than her nightmare. 

She looked away and let out a nervous little laugh. “Don’t give me all the credit. We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t strong in your own right.”

“Your humility is admirable, but I mean what I said,” he said. “I would have died a failure if not for your… strange but effective leadership. You recovered my purpose. If I could do the same for you, I would.”

She met his eye. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I appreciate that.”

He nodded, and another calm silence fell between them. Then Sten rested his back against the bed. 

“What do your people do when they suffer ailments of the soul?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I… I don’t know, really. I didn’t know anyone with anything like _asala-ataar_ before my clan – before I left my clan. But when I had nightmares as a child, I talked about it with Ashalle.”

Sten nodded slowly. A minute later, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “Do you wish to speak of your nightmares to me?”

She blinked. “Really? You’re willing to do something that _bas_ do?”

“You have done things that my people do,” he said. “You found my _asala_. Consider this a return of the favour.” Then he shrugged. “Or I could try striking you with a stick.”

She smiled at his deadpan tone. “You’re saying if I don’t tell you about my dream, you’ll beat me up with a stick?”

“Those appear to be your choices at this time,” he replied.

She chuckled and wrapped her arms around her knees. “All right, since you insist. It was…” She ran a hand over her braid. The details were already fuzzy now that she was awake, but the feeling – and the most prominent person – were clear.

She took a deep breath. “Sten, do you remember that time that our camp was attacked by darkspawn? And one of them, um, spoke to me?”

He turned to look at her more fully. “Yes. The clanmate you called Tamlen.”

She nodded. “The dream was about him. I was… trying to save him. He was… I wanted Alistair to help me make him a Warden, but I… I couldn’t. And he kept – he kept saying, um…”

_I’ve always loved you, lethallan._ That was what dream-Tamlen had said. It was what the real blighted Tamlen had said before he attacked her at their camp. His voice was so hoarse and corrupted, twisting the words and making them ugly despite their intent, and… 

And then he was dead, cut down by Zevran’s throwing knives and Sten’s greatsword, leaving his agonized words of love and apology to dissipate in the air.

Her chest felt tight. She dragged in a breath and rubbed her face, then ran her hands over her hair. “Look, we don’t need to talk about this. We should go back to sleep.”

Sten shifted on the bedroll so he was facing her once more. “You said that talking is how your people clear their minds.”

“It’s… yes, it’s one way,” she said grudgingly.

“But you did not talk about this during our convoluted pursuit of the archdemon over the past year.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t need to. There was no time. Other things were more important.” Furthermore, shunting the pain aside to deal with it later had been working just fine until tonight.

He nodded slowly. “You were focused on your mission. This is understandable. But there is no mission now. It is the middle of the night. There is nothing more important for you to focus on.”

She offered him a weak smile. “You could focus on getting a good night’s sleep. I might beat you tomorrow in our training if you’re not careful.”

He gave her a chiding look. “Speak, _kadan_. This is the time. I would help you with your soul sickness, as you helped me.”

She sighed and rubbed her face again, then gave him a frank look. “Did you know that I never saw battle before I became a Warden?” 

His eyebrows rose at this, and Yara shrugged ruefully. “I’d never killed anyone before… before all of this. I hunted animals, and I’d wounded a few shems here and there when they tried to attack my clan, but I’d never killed anyone. But the ruin where Tamlen and I…” She paused and took another bracing breath. “I never told you how I became a Warden, did I?”

He shook his head. “You speak little of yourself.”

She gave him a tiny smile. “I could say the same about you.” 

“Hm,” he murmured. “Perhaps it is part of my… charm.”

Yara looked at him in surprise, then laughed at the wry quirk of his eyebrows. “That was almost a flirt!” she said. “Maybe you are learning something from _The Rose of Orlais_ after all.”

Sten huffed. “Tell me how you became a Grey Warden, _kadan._ ”

She smiled at him, then sighed. “All right. I… Tamlen and I were monitoring the forest. Keeping an eye on the perimeter of our camp to make sure no humans were going to sneak up on us. But Tamlen found this… this old ruin. He wanted to explore it. I told him it was a bad idea, but he…” She paused and ran her fingers through her hair. “The only time I ever got into any mischief was when I was with him. Which was… not uncommon, if I’m honest,” she added with a tiny smile. 

Sten nodded an acknowledgement. He was studying her with his usual brand of steady patience, and Yara took another calming breath before going on. “Anyway. We… we went into the ruin, and… I should have known better than to go any deeper, because there were monsters inside. Walking corpses…” A rash of goosebumps spilled down the back of her neck at the memory, and she restlessly shifted her shoulders. “It’s nothing now, compared to the darkspawn — ogres and shrieks and all that. But at the time, it was the most horrible thing I’d ever seen.”

“You were unprepared for your first brush with death,” he said.

“Of course I wasn’t prepared,” she retorted. “I was _not_ prepared at all. I mean, who… no one could – who could be prepared to find dead bodies brought back to life in some old ruin in the woods?”

Sten grunted. “You make a good point.” 

She exhaled heavily. “So we killed the dead bodies. And we kept going deeper into the ruin because… Creators, I don’t know why. I wish — anyway.” She ran a trembling hand over her hair. “And then we found the mirror.”

Sten’s eyebrows rose. “A mirror?”

She nodded. “Yes, a huge ornate mirror. It was… it whispered.” She swallowed hard. “This cold, horrible voice, but I… I wanted to know what it said, and so did Tamlen. But I was… Sten, I was so scared. I told Tamlen we should go back to tell Marethari – our clan leader. But he insisted on touching the mirror.” She dragged in another breath. “He touched it, and something… I don’t know what happened. But when I woke up, I was back with my clan and sick with the Blight, and Tamlen was gone.”

“The Blight took him,” Sten said.

“I know that now,” Yara said, more sharply than she intended. “But at the time, we had no idea what had happened. I went looking for him with Fenarel and Merrill, but we didn’t find him. And when we came back to camp, Duncan was there, and he made me join the Wardens.” She frowned. “Actually, no. It wasn’t him who made me join. It was Marethari. She…” Yara pressed her lips together hard. The agitation in her chest was thrumming more strongly as she spoke about this, and it was starting to feel like a heated pulse behind her eyes and in her ears. 

She scratched her wrist. “Marethari told Duncan to conscript me. _She_ forced me to go with Duncan, and then they left the Brecilian Forest even though they didn’t know what had become of Tamlen.”

Sten nodded. “You were given a new purpose,” he said. “You were sick, and the Wardens helped you. That was good for you.”

Yara stared at him. Had he not been listening at all? “I didn’t want to leave my clan,” she said harshly. “I didn’t want to leave without knowing what happened to Tamlen. I had no choice about it. And I know you think choice doesn’t matter, all right?” she snapped. “I know that. I just… I wasn’t raised that way, Sten. I loved my clan, and I loved Tamlen. He was my brother, just like your brothers in your _beresaad_. He disappeared, and the clan didn’t bother to look for him. And I had to leave them and follow Duncan to Ostagar that same day.” She hunched her shoulders. “I didn’t even get time to say goodbye to everyone. I just… left. They… they made me leave.” 

She had been so miserable during the entire trek to Ostagar. She’d hidden it from Duncan as best she could, but every morning when she’d woken up, her left wrist was more raw and painful than the day before. She’d eventually started wearing long-sleeved shirts to sleep to prevent her sleeping nails from breaking the skin.

Sten suddenly grasped her left wrist. Startled by his touch, she jolted and looked at him. 

His face was serious, and his grip on her wrist was firm. When he released her, she looked at her wrist. 

It was marked with angry red score lines. _Fenedhis_ , she thought impatiently. She folded her arms defensively across her chest.

Then Sten spoke again. “Are you angry that you are a Grey Warden?”

She took a deep breath to calm herself. “It’s not that. I’m… it is what it is. I’m a Warden now, and that’s just the way it is. And I get why they made me join. If I hadn’t become a Warden, I’d be dead. I’m just…” She tugged restlessly at her braid. “I’m angry about _how_ it happened. It was so sudden, and they just… my clan just cast me off. They cast Tamlen off, too.” She shot Sten a resentful look. “I lost everything that day. Can’t you see that? I lost everything but my life, and I didn’t know how long _that_ was even going to last.”

“You were questioning your purpose,” Sten said.

“Of course I was,” she snapped. “I _had_ a purpose! I was a hunter for my clan! Then that was gone, along with Tamlen and my clan and my whole life.” 

“But you gained a new purpose,” he said. “And you accepted it. You fulfilled your mission.”

“Yes, I did. I finished my mission, all right?” she snapped. “I did my duty and I killed the archdemon, so I should be happy. Is that what you want me to say?”

Sten raised his eyebrows knowingly. “‘Happy’ does not mean the same thing to you and I.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Yara said bitterly. “Because you don’t love anyone.” 

Her cruel words hung heavily between them. Her heartbeat was loud and angry in her ears, but as the silence stretched between them, her anger faded into a horrible wracking guilt.

She sighed and rubbed her face. “Sten, I’m sorry. I’m… I’m really sorry. That was uncalled for. I know you loved your friends in your _beresaad_. That was… I shouldn’t have said that.”

He nodded an acknowledgement, but his frown was thoughtful rather than angry. To her mild surprise, he changed the subject. “The battle at Ostagar. The one where you and Alistair were the sole survivors,” he said. “That happened the same day you arrived at Ostagar? The same day you became a Warden?”

She nodded cautiously. “That same night, yes.”

“And the next day, you set out to stop the civil war and the Blight,” he said.

She nodded and exhaled heavily. “Everything happened pretty quickly, yes.”

Sten tilted his head and didn’t reply, and Yara watched him nervously. “What are you thinking?” she finally asked.

He continued to study her with a curious frown. “You barely spoke of this before.”

She shrugged and dropped her eyes to her lap. “There was no reason to.”

“It is unusual for you _bas_ to not speak of your pasts,” he said. “The others spoke of their pasts. Alistair would not stop talking about the senior Warden who died at Ostagar.”

“That’s fine,” Yara said. “They can talk about themselves. I don’t mind. I like knowing their stories. But I don’t like to… I just…” She shrugged irritably and waved at herself. “Nobody wants to know about this. Everyone has something horrible going on. It’s bad enough to carry their own problems without carrying mine too.”

“But you carried _their_ problems,” Sten said. “I observed your behaviour during our travels. You and the other _bas_. You carried their problems. And you carried mine.”

She frowned. “Yes, but that’s… it was my job to help them — to help _you_ with your problems.” She gave him a slightly sarcastic look. “I was the alleged leader, remember?”

“There is nothing ‘alleged’ about it,” Sten said. “You led us, and you did it well. And you carried our problems without complaint. This is what a good leader does.”

She scowled and tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. “So what’s the problem, then? If I was doing my job well? Isn’t that what qunari think is the most important thing?”

“It is important,” Sten said. “I am simply remarking that it is a heavy weight for a small woman to carry.”

Yara scoffed. “You and this ‘small woman’ stuff. I get it, all right? You think I’m small and weak and that I shouldn’t fight–”

“ _Parshaara,_ ” Sten interrupted firmly. “I do not think you are weak. You have more strength than men who are twice your size.” He leaned toward her. “But you have _asala-ataar_ , and I do not want to see it break you.”

Yara stared at him, stunned into silence by the look on his face. His expression was so serious and so earnest, and the look in his violet eyes was more sympathetic than she’d expected.

She swallowed hard. Tears were suddenly throbbing in her throat and pounding at the backs of her eyes. She forced her lips into a semblance of a smile. “Maybe we should try that beating-with-a-stick thing after all,” she quipped.

Sten didn’t smile. He continued to pin her with that steady and penetrating stare that made her feel more exposed and raw than the scratched-up skin on her left wrist. He was just sitting there on the floor gazing silently at her: a big strong wall of muscle with his soft amethyst eyes… 

Yara opened her mouth, and a sob came out. A second later, tears were pouring down her face.

_Fenedhis._ She hastily wiped her face with the bedsheet, then sobbed again. “S-sorry,” she choked out. “You don’t – I’m sorry. This is– I’m not usually…” She sobbed again, then gave up and buried her face in her arms. 

“ _Kadan_ ,” Sten said quietly.

She hiccuped and wiped her runny nose on her arm. “Mm?” she mumbled. 

There was a pause before he spoke again. “Sten of the _beresaad_ do not cry,” he said.

She let out a wet little laugh. “Thanks. That’s helpful.”

“I want to help,” Sten replied. “Tell me what your people would do when one is crying.”

She shrugged listlessly and wiped her face. “Hold each other’s hands, I guess,” she muttered. “Or hug.”

“Hug?” he said.

She drew another hiccup-y breath. “It’s when two people put their arms around each–”

“I know what a hug is,” Sten said dryly. “I am not an idiot.”

She grimaced. “Sorry.”

Sten shifted slightly on the bedroll. “Hugging is how the tamassrans comfort _imekari._ ”

Yara huffed. “Well, some adults like it too,” she mumbled.

Sten was quiet for a moment. Then he stood up. “I will hug you if this will help.”

Yara gaped at him, then let out an incredulous little laugh. “You’ll hug me? You’ll…” She hiccupped, and more tears rolled down her face. “You’ll actually h-hug…?” She broke off again; she was crying too hard to talk. 

She hid her face in her knees and clutched her hair, humiliated that Sten was seeing her like this. A moment later, the mattress shifted as his weight settled beside her. 

“Come, _kadan_ ,” he said, and he squeezed her shoulder. 

She sobbed again, then pushed the blankets off of her legs and shuffled toward him on the bed. He draped his arm around her, and the next thing she knew, she was curled up in Sten’s lap and bawling against his bare chest. 

His thickly muscled arms encircled her in a somewhat awkward embrace, and Yara sobbed even harder and pressed her face against his chest. He was so warm and sturdy and _big_ , and he smelled like the sweetness of sleep and a faint hint of sweat, and she couldn't remember the last time she had felt this safe. 

She clutched his arm and sobbed unabashedly. By the time her tears had died down to the odd weak hiccup, she felt both emptier and more relaxed than she had in months. 

She closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. She was completely exhausted. Her head was aching and her eyes felt grossly swollen, and she couldn’t imagine that she looked at all attractive. Then she berated herself for even worrying about being attractive to Sten, given the situation.

“Is your mind clear?” Sten asked quietly. 

She sniffed hard and nodded. “Yes,” she murmured. “I feel much better now.” 

Sten didn’t reply, and Yara simply breathed and savoured the warm wall of his chest and the solid comfort of his arms around her. Some time later – she wasn’t sure how long exactly – he spoke again. “Should I release you?” 

She took a deep breath. She should probably say yes. She could tell from his slightly stiff posture that hugging wasn’t natural to him, and she really was feeling much better than she had all night. She actually felt better now than she had when this entire journey had begun, despite her puffy eyes and the residual ache in her chest. 

In fact, she felt better now than she had in a very, very long time. 

“Can you hug me for a little longer?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“Yes,” he said. His arms tightened slightly, and Yara’s heart fluttered. 

She heaved a heavy, tremulous sigh, then pressed her cheek more snugly against his chest. “Thank you, Sten,” she whispered.

“You are welcome, _kadan_ ,” he replied.

She smiled faintly. A few minutes later, lulled by exhaustion and the safety of Sten’s embrace, Yara fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for those who want to swing on by. xoxo


	6. Talk

_A traveler asked the Ashkaari: "What was your vision of our purpose?"  
The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story."_

_A vast granite statue stands on an island, holding back the sea.  
The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world.  
The sea drowns its feet with every tide.  
The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back.  
The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again.  
The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.  
Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against.  
The deception flows deeper. The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea.  
And is whittled away with each wave.  
It protests the setting sun, and its face is burned looking upon it. It does not know itself.  
Stubbornly, it resists wisdom and is transformed._

\- The Soul Canto  
***********************

Yara could hear the ocean.

It was a soft whispery rush overhead, slow and soothing and just loud enough to rouse her gently from her sleep. Half-conscious and curled cozily on her side, she listened to the easy rhythm for a long drowsy moment before realizing that it wasn’t the ocean she was hearing.

And the solid wall of heat pressed against her spine wasn’t the cabin wall.

It was Sten.

A thrill rippled through her chest, and her eyes popped open. It was Sten. She was being spooned by Sten. Her head was tucked under his chin, and the soft rhythmic sound overhead was his sleeping breath. The comforting weight across her waist was his arm, and that firm warm wall against her back was his sleeping body.

Sten was sleeping on the bed with her. And he was — he was holding her! Well, _almost_ holding her; his arm was draped over her rather than a real embrace, but still. Why was he — how had this happened? The last thing Yara remembered was being totally exhausted after her embarrassing bout of crying and snuggling into his big sturdy arms. She must have fallen asleep in his lap. But that didn’t explain why he hadn’t just put her to bed and returned to the bedroll himself. Sleeping on the bed with her didn’t seem his style, and being curled around her like this most certainly wasn’t his style.

Not that she was complaining. She was thrilled, in fact. Being spooned by Sten felt so… so damned nice. And so damned _safe_. Her heart was drumming out a happy little tattoo inside of her ribs, and she couldn’t help but smile to herself as she savoured the feeling of being cocooned against his big hard body.

She gazed happily at his hand, which was curled on the mattress near her own. His fingers were long but broad, and the nails were neatly trimmed – perfectly square-shaped edges that were easy to keep clean, in Sten’s own words. Such strong masculine fingers, the stone-grey skin marked here and there with little nicks and scars… 

She took a slow, bracing breath. Then, very slowly, she shifted her hand on the mattress and placed her fingers in his palm. 

Sten jolted, and Yara squeaked in surprise. His hand was suddenly gripping hers, and his body was pressed more firmly to her back, and – oh gods, the thick rod pressing into her spine – was that–?

A rush of excitement ripped hotly through her body, followed by a wash of self-reprimand. There was no reason to be excited; it was first thing in the morning, and Sten was hardly awake. It was natural for him to be hard, and there was no reason to think he was hard for _her_. 

But her body wasn’t listening. Almost by instinct, she pressed her hips back toward his groin. 

_He’s huge._ She barely had time to register the breathtaking thought before Sten made a sound – a low, guttural grunt of a sound that lifted the hum of interest between her legs into a needy roar.

He curled his hips toward her, pushing the hard ridge of his cock against her back, and Yara gasped and clutched his hand. Then Sten shoved himself off of the bed. 

Disoriented by his sudden movement and her own lust, Yara pushed herself upright and looked at him. He was standing close to the door and staring at her with wide eyes, and she couldn’t help herself: her eyes dropped to the tented rise in his trousers. 

Creators, it was _quite_ a tent. She wanted to see what was beneath that tent. She wanted to undo the laces on his loose cotton trousers and pull out his cock and see exactly how big and thick he was–

“ _Vashedan_ ,” Sten muttered. He turned away from her to adjust his manhood, and Yara pressed one trembling hand to her mouth to try and calm herself. Her whole body felt like it was suspended in an odd tingling vertigo, and every breath she took only made her need surge higher. 

She wanted Sten. Gods, she wanted him badly, and she didn’t understand why it had taken this long for her to realize it. She’d spent a year with him, for Elgar’nan’s sake: a year of travelling together and fighting together and discussing philosophy and culture, and in all that time, she’d somehow failed to think seriously about him in this way. Oh, she’d had odd fantasies here and there about his hands and his calm deep voice and what he would look like without his heavy armour, but her passing thoughts were never more than that – probably because of all the other things that required her attention.

But here on this ship, there was nothing more pressing that needed her attention. Here in this small cabin, faced with the overwhelming scent and sight of her most steadfast companion, Yara was realizing that her habit of pushing her feelings aside had been more… comprehensive than she thought. It seemed that grief and guilt and anger weren’t the only feelings she’d been shunting aside to deal with later.

It seemed that she’d also been shunting aside _other_ feelings – feelings for Sten – that were just as confusing and complex. 

She dragged in a breath. “Sten, can we–”

“I am going to go and train,” he said. 

She broke off and studied him. His expression was neutral once more, and his body seemed to have regained some sense of control as well, and Yara was suddenly both envious of and annoyed by his apparent calm. 

She pushed the sheets off of her legs. “I’ll come with you. Just give me a–”

“No,” he said. 

A pang of hurt prodded her chest, but Sten was still talking. “Not today, _kadan_ ,” he said. “I would prefer to drill on my own.”

“Oh,” she said. “Um. All right, I’ll… I guess I’ll stay here for a while longer.” She glanced at the porthole window; the pale quality of light coming through the glass did seem to indicate that it was extremely early. 

Sten nodded and opened the door. Just before he left, he glanced back at her. “Don’t remain indoors for too long. You will–”

“– get seasick, I know,” she finished with a tiny smile. He kept saying this, even though she’d only had a little bit of nausea on the first day or two. 

He nodded again, then left the cabin, and Yara flopped back on the mattress. What was _wrong_ with her? Why had she rubbed her butt against him like that? Of course he didn’t really want her; he was just waking up with his morning wood, and she’d – oh gods, she’d touched him against his will when he was only half-awake. 

“ _Fenedhis,_ ” she whimpered, and she buried her face in her hands. No wonder he was trying to get away from her. 

She sighed and rolled onto her belly, and for a long and miserable while, she just lay in her torturously Sten-scented sheets and mused about how foolish she was. Just because she was hopelessly infatuated with Sten didn’t mean he felt the same way. She had basically no evidence that he cared for her as more than a friend, and now she’d gone and ruined the nicest and most comforting thing in her life. 

He had still called her _kadan_ , though. So… so maybe she hadn’t completely ruined their relationship. Perhaps they could go back to being friends. It wasn’t… ideal, but it was better than nothing. 

When the sun pouring through the window was a bright stream rather than a pale hint of light, Yara finally rose from the bed. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, then tied her hair into a ponytail and emerged onto the deck. 

Sten was drilling on the forecastle deck just as he’d said, and Yara leaned against the taffrail to watch him rather than joining him as she really wanted to do. The least she could do after her behaviour this morning was give him the space he’d asked for. 

Fen’ain romped over to her, and she smiled and scratched his head. “Hello, _lethallin_ ,” she said.

He wagged his tail, then sat beside her and cocked his head, and she sighed. “He didn’t want me to join him today,” she explained quietly. “People need space sometimes.”

Fen’ain let out a tiny whine, and Yara chuckled. “Well, maybe _you_ don’t, but you’re a mabari. You’re a special kind of people.” She hunkered down beside him and scratched his thick furry neck. “Why don’t you go on up and join him? He could use some practice sparring with such a mighty beast.”

Fen’ain stood and barked, then ran up to the forecastle deck, and Yara watched fondly as Sten’s drills were interrupted by Fen’ain’s joyful prancing. Sten stopped and said something to Fen’ain, and the mabari instantly sat at attention – more disciplined attention than he’d ever shown to her, she thought with amusement.

Sten glanced up at her, and her heart jolted with hope. But after the briefest nod of greeting, he turned his attention back to Fen’ain, and the two of them began ‘sparring’ with each other in the unusual way that only a huge warrior and a big unarmed mabari could spar. 

Yara smiled as she watched them. Then, somewhat reluctantly, she went to the galley to get some breakfast. 

She spent the morning with the crew. She helped the cook to make stew for the evening meal and repaired some tears in the spare sails, and she listened contentedly to the sailors’ colourful stories. By midday, however, she’d decided that Sten had had enough space.

She brought him his midday meal. He was sitting on the forecastle deck bench as usual and reading _The Rose of Orlais_ , and when she approached him with a tray in her hands, he looked up.

“ _Kadan_ ,” he said.

“Hey,” she said softly. She inspected his face carefully as she sat beside him. His face was neutral, and his tone was neutral too – very neutral. Almost too neutral, as though he was purposely trying to be as expressionless as possible. 

_No, shut up,_ she told herself. She was just reading into things because she was feeling so nervous.

She took a hardtack biscuit from the tray and gestured for him to eat, and he nodded his thanks before selecting a biscuit as well. Then he took a bite and returned his attention to his book. 

Feeling increasingly awkward, Yara bit her biscuit and chewed slowly. She swallowed the bite with difficulty – was it just her, or was this biscuit more dry than usual? – then took a sip of water and another bite of food. By the time her biscuit was gone, Sten had finished his entire share of the meal, and he hadn’t said another word to her.

_But that’s not unusual,_ she reminded herself. Sten wasn’t a big talker, after all, and she was usually the one to initiate their conversations. 

But… but as of late, that wasn’t necessarily true. Sten had been starting their conversations more often as this trip had gone on, and now, after twelve days of chatting and reading together with increasing frequency, this length of silence was _very_ odd. 

She couldn’t really blame him, though, not after this morning. She really ought to say something about it. Apologize for pushing herself against him. It wasn’t at all his fault that her inhibitions seemed to have fallen away and left her a lustful mess. 

_I’m sorry._ The words sat on the back of her tongue, and she tried to force them out. Instead, she forced herself to finish her lunch. 

By the time she was done, Sten still had not spoken another word, and Yara was just about ready to cry. She swallowed the lump in her throat and stood. “I’ll see you later?” she said softly. 

He looked up at her. “Yes,” he said. 

She forced her lips into a semblance of a smile, then picked up the empty tray and made her way back to the main deck. And for the rest of the afternoon, she left him alone and did her best to distract herself from her dismay by chatting with the crew and playing with Fen’ain. 

The distraction didn’t work. She couldn’t stop glancing at the forecastle deck where Sten was sitting with his book. It had only been one day without their conversations and debates and his dry jokes, and already she missed him terribly. 

When the late-afternoon sun was starting its slow descent, she mustered her courage and joined him on the forecastle deck once more. She plopped down on the bench beside him, and before she could lose her nerve, she spoke. “Sten, can we talk about this morning?”

He glanced at her, then returned his gaze to his book. “There is nothing to talk about.”

“Well, _you_ don’t have to talk,” she said hastily. “I – I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have…”

She trailed off, and he glanced at her again with a weary sort of annoyance that only made her feel more nervous. She rubbed idly at her left wrist. “I, um… look, this is… awkward to say, but I… it seems that I have, um, feelings for you, and I – that’s not an excuse,” she said hastily. “I’m not making an excuse, I just–”

He interrupted her. “ _Parshaara_. Let’s not speak of this.”

She shuffled closer to him. “Sten, just let me finish. I’m sorry, all right? I shouldn’t have… pushed up against you like I did this morning.” She waved vaguely at his lap. “Y-you weren’t really awake, and it wasn’t – I won’t do that again if you don’t want me to. I mean…” She broke off and grimaced. Creators, she’d just admitted that she _wanted_ to push herself back against him. _Why_ had she said that? Why? _Why?_

Her face was burning. “Damn it,” she muttered, and she ran her hands over her hair. Before she could regroup, Sten held up a hand. 

“ _Kadan,_ stop. Don’t apologize,” he said sternly. 

She lifted her head from her hands. “But I just want to make it right. I’m really sorry–”

“Stop,” he snapped. “You have nothing to–” He broke off and scowled, then shook his head and looked down at his book. “I don’t want to speak of this.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why won’t you talk about this?” It had been ages since he’d refused to talk to her about something – not since she’d found his _asala_ , in fact. Had her impulsive behaviour this morning really changed his view of her that much?

It seemed that it had; he was starting to look angry now. Unfortunately for Yara, Sten’s anger didn’t change _her_ feelings. Even with that scowl on his face, she couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like if he just kissed her. If he dragged her into his arms and pulled her head back by her ponytail and kissed her–

_Shut up,_ she scolded herself for the umpteenth time. If Sten only wanted to be her friend, that’s what she would accept. But she couldn’t bear this horrible silent impasse, not after the warm intimacy they’d been building for the past nearly-two weeks. 

He snorted and waved an impatient hand. “You _bas_ ,” he grunted. “Always wanting to talk, as though there is wisdom to be found in your constant stream of words. But when a stream swells too much, it becomes a waterfall, and you can derive nothing of value through the noise.”

Yara recoiled. “Is that really what you think when I talk?” she said. “That it’s just worthless noise?”

“When I am attempting to read, yes,” he retorted. He turned back to his book.

She stared at him. He hadn’t been this mean to her since the first month or so that they’d met. 

He wanted to behave as though they’d just met? Then Yara would react the way _she_ used to do when he defied her. 

She rose from the bench. “Stand up,” she said.

He looked up at her. “What?” he said flatly.

“I said stand up,” she ordered. She jerked her chin at his book. “Reading time is over. It’s time now for us to spar.”

He raised his eyebrows, and she folded her arms. “Come on, Sten. This is the time when we usually do our hand-to-hand. I’m not willing to lose the strength I’ve gained just because you’d rather read than fight with me.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, and Yara clenched her fingers tensely as she waited for his response. 

He closed the book and put it aside. Then, finally, he rose from the bench and took his place across from her on the deck. 

He gestured for her to approach. “Strike me, _kadan_. If you can.” 

“You first,” she retorted. 

He quirked one eyebrow, then lunged at her. 

She dodged away from him swiftly, just as they’d been practicing. Sten jabbed and swung at her, his hands constantly on the move as he tried alternately to grab and strike, and she carefully skipped away from him while kicking at him to keep him back and using her forearms to deflect his strikes. 

He grabbed her wrist and dragged her close. Without hesitation, she grabbed his other shoulder for leverage, then jumped up and drove her knee into his abdomen.

He grunted and released her wrist, and she stumbled away from him in triumph. But before she could fully regain her balance, he was plowing toward her with his head ducked low. 

His shoulder drove into her belly — not hard enough to wind her, but hard enough to push a little “oomph!” from her lungs. He lifted her clear off her feet, and a second later she was sprawled on her back and gasping for breath.

Sten kneeled over her body. “Again,” he said.

She nodded sharply and pushed herself upright. When she and Sten were facing each other again, she waved for him to approach. 

He immediately ran at her with his head low as though to plow her off her feet again, and she swiftly spun away from him. As he ran past her, she stuck her leg in his way.

He tripped over her leg and stumbled to his hands and knees, and Yara aimed a hard kick at his belly, but he rolled away from her onto his butt. She swiftly brought her knee toward his head, but before she could land the hit, he lashed out and grabbed her thigh and hip. 

He turned her leg away from his head and pulled her off balance, and Yara fell into his lap with a yelp of surprise. An instant later, she was pinned on her belly with Sten’s strong hands holding her wrists to the deck. 

He placed one knee in the center of her back. “I could crush you, _kadan_ ,” he said. 

She dragged in a distracted breath – _the scent of his sweat, Fen’Harel take me…_ “I know that,” she panted. “Let me up.”

He released her wrists and lifted his knee from her back. Before he could fully rise to his feet, Yara shoved herself to her hands and knees and jammed her shoulder into his abdomen. 

Sten grunted and stumbled back on his knees. Yara jumped to her feet and grabbed his head, then swiftly brought her knee toward his nose.

She paused with her knee just touching his nose. “Got you,” she announced.

He scoffed. “This doesn’t count. A true enemy would not have released you from that hold.”

“Why won’t you talk to me about what happened this morning?” she said abruptly.

“It was my fault, not yours,” he said.

Yara blinked in surprise. She’d hoped that sparring would relax him enough to make him talk, but she hadn’t expected him to say _that_.

She released his head and stepped away from him. “Why do you think it was your fault?”

He frowned, then slowly rose to his feet. “I lacked in discipline. It was not your doing.” He gestured for her to attack him. “Come.”

“What do you mean, you lacked in discipline?” she asked. “You can’t help it that your, um… that it was first thing in the morning,” she finished awkwardly. “That’s not your fault.”

His scowl deepened, and he made a sharp gesture with his hand. “ _Parshaara_. We should return to our training.”

Yara pursed her lips in frustration, then gestured for him to come at her. They sparred for a minute, Sten swinging and lunging for her while she dodged and kicked at him. She eventually succeeded in landing a hard enough kick to his chest that he paused to catch his breath. She skipped around behind him and tried to slam into the backs of his knees, but he twisted away from her and grabbed her ponytail.

She gasped and instinctively grabbed his wrist, and a few _ooh_ s and some scattered applause rose from the crew; it seemed that they’d garnered a small audience. But Sten was ignoring them to frown at her.

She rose slowly to her feet. “You don’t have to say it,” she gritted out. 

He released her hair. “Good,” he said. 

She sighed and untied her hair. While binding it up into a more practical bun, she frowned up at him. “Why do you think it’s bad that you had, um, morning wood?” she asked quietly.

He scowled. “ _Vashedan._ It is not that. It’s… I should not have been in bed with you.”

“Then why were you?” she blurted.

He shot her a hard look, then suddenly grabbed at her again. Startled by his swift attack, she barely managed to knock his hand away with her forearms, but her defenses didn’t last long; a few heartbeats later, Sten had her pressed back against the taffrail with his forearm banded across her throat, and Yara couldn’t breathe – not because of his forearm, which was only holding her in a token hold, but because his body was pressed firmly to hers.

Her chest was crushed to the base of his ribcage, and his hips were pressed to her belly, and… Mythal save her soul, he was hard again. The hard rise of his cock was pressed against her belly, and Yara was seized with a sudden and terrible urge to jump up and wrap her legs around his thick muscular waist.

She grabbed his wrist. “Why did you sleep in the bed with me, Sten?” she asked breathlessly.

He glared furiously at her, then released her and stepped back. “Fight me, Grey Warden,” he said. “Treat me as your enemy. Treat me as what I am.”

She swallowed hard and stared at him. He was sweaty and panting and as handsome as ever, but there was a hardness to his tone and his expression now that Yara didn’t like. 

She nodded, and Sten charged her once more, but this time his attacks were faster than before. She was forced to dodge more than to kick this time, and when he grabbed her wrist at one point, his grip was so firm that Yara was forced to bring her elbow down on his forearm to break the hold. A heart-hammering minute later, when Sten was finally starting to slow, Yara darted forward and leveled a hard kick at his belly. 

He grabbed her leg in a firm grip. Before he could pull her off her feet, she lashed out and slammed the heel of her hand against his jaw, just below his ear. 

He gasped in pain and released her leg, and she quickly came at him with another kick to the belly that landed true this time.

He grunted at the impact and stumbled back. Breathless now with impending victory, Yara ducked down and hooked her foot behind his ankle.

He fell hard onto his ass. Yara hastily dropped to her knees and shoved him down onto his back, then straddled his arm. She pressed one knee to his throat, then swiftly brought the heel of her hand toward his face and stopped just short of his nose. 

Sten froze, and the crew whistled and began clapping. Yara ignored them and kept her gaze steady on Sten’s face. “You are not my enemy,” she told him. “You’ll never be my enemy.”

He stared at her in silence, and Yara slowly released her breath. His face was serious as always, but that unfamiliar hardness was gone. 

She relaxed her posture and ran her fingers over the spot on his jaw where she’d struck him. “Did I hurt you?” she asked.

“You slammed my teeth together,” he said matter-of-factly.

She winced and gingerly cradled his jaw in her palm. “Damn. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “This is what you are training for. There is no reason to be sorry.”

She gave him an odd look. That was a strangely supportive thing to say, given how surly he’d been just a moment ago. 

They stared at each other for a while longer – long enough for Yara to appreciate just how hot and packed with muscle his chest was beneath her leg. Then he tapped her thigh.

“Oh,” she said stupidly. “Y-yes, right. Sorry.” She climbed off of him and stood, and when Sten stood up as well, Yara continued to stare vapidly at him. He was big and strong and ruggedly beautiful and safe, and his way of seeing the world both challenged and comforted her while making her wonder what he was _really_ thinking. He was special, a unique and special warrior the likes of which she’d never known before, and Yara wanted him more than any other man she’d ever met.

Bolstered by the blood and the boldness of battle that were still pumping hotly through her limbs, she spoke. “You’re welcome to share the bed with me,” she said.

He looked at her sharply – that penetrating gaze that pierced straight through to her bones – and she took another deep breath. “Or not,” she said lamely. “If you… if you don’t want to, that’s fine. Just… just talk to me, please? Tell me what you’re thinking. Don’t just… read.” She smiled weakly. “I like our conversations.”

He studied her silently for a moment, then took a step back. “I must go to the cabin. To… think.”

Her gut curdled with disappointment. “Oh,” she said. “Should I, um…” She swallowed hard. “Should I sleep somewhere else tonight, then…?”

His face softened slightly. “No, _kadan,_ ” he said. Then he turned and walked away from her. 

She watched him go, more confused than ever by how cryptic and moody he was being. One moment he was completely silent, and the next moment he was calling her _kadan_. He was avoiding her questions more than usual, deflecting her or being nearly unkind, telling her he shouldn’t have been in bed with her while not explaining why, then pressing his entire big hard body against her while they sparred… 

A hot spark of desire trickled down her throat, followed by an idea. Sten thought she talked too much, did he? 

Well, maybe Yara could work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do some research on How To Fight Big People When You Are Smol™, and [here's the video I found most useful.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HgoLLezD14&t=1s)
> 
> Also, smut on later this week. I MADE YOU WAIT LONG ENOUGH.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for anyone who wants to swing by! xo


	7. Intimate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

_A traveler asked the Ashkaari: "What was your vision of our purpose?"  
The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story."_

_A vast granite statue stands on an island, holding back the sea.  
The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world.  
The sea drowns its feet with every tide.  
The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back.  
The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again.  
The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.  
Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against.  
The deception flows deeper. The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea.  
And is whittled away with each wave.  
It protests the setting sun, and its face is burned looking upon it. It does not know itself.  
Stubbornly, it resists wisdom and is transformed.  
If you love purpose, fall into the tide. Let it carry you.  
Do not fear the dark. The sun and the stars will return to guide you._

\- The Soul Canto  
*************************************

Yara paused outside of their cabin and took a bracing breath, then knocked on the door. “Can I come in?” she called softly.

“Yes,” Sten replied. 

She pushed open the door and carefully closed it behind her, then turned to face him. He was sitting on the bed with his hands resting loosely on his knees. 

“Were you meditating?” she asked.

He nodded once, but didn’t speak. His eyes were steady on her face, and his expression was calm – more calm than he’d looked all day, in fact. Whatever meditation he’d managed to do in the ten minutes before she’d come to join him must have done him good. 

Yara only wished she felt a fraction as serene as he seemed to be. 

She leaned back against the door and looked at him, and he silently returned her stare. The silence stretched tensely between them like a thread of caramel waiting to crack, and the longer he stared at her with his infuriating steady calm, the more jittery she started to feel. 

She nervously licked her lips, and Sten’s gaze dropped to her mouth. 

It was the boost she needed to gather her courage. She took a small step away from the door, and without speaking, without saying a word, she began gathering the fabric of her linen shirt in her fingers.

Sten was silent as she pulled the shirt over her head. She dropped the shirt on the floor, then looked up and met his gaze. 

His eyebrows were raised very slightly, but his expression was otherwise unchanged. 

She swallowed hard to master her nerves. Then, without looking away from his clear amethyst eyes, she started tugging at the laces of her cropped Dalish vest.

He watched her in silence, not moving aside from the slow rise and fall of his chest, neither condoning nor forbidding her bold actions. Her fingers grew clumsy with nerves as she loosened the laces of her vest, and when the vest was fully untied, Sten still hadn’t spoken or moved. 

Yara started to part the halves of the vest, but her uncertainty got the best of her, and she hesitated. She met his eyes once more in a silent plea: was she completely off base with what she was doing here, or did he want her to continue? 

He silently met her stare. Then, after an unbearably tense moment, he dropped his eyes to her chest.

She exhaled slowly, then shucked off the vest and dropped it beside her discarded shirt. Bare now from the waist up and more nervous than ever, she lifted her eyes to Sten’s face.

His eyes were on her breasts – no, not just her breasts, but skimming slowly down over the planes of her belly. Tense and breathless with hope, Yara waited as Sten’s gaze lingered on her navel before trailing back up to her chest. By the time his eyes finally returned to her face, nerves and excitement were thrumming in her chest and making it hard to breathe. Sten’s expression was serious and stoic as always, but there was something about the cant of his head, or the way he was looking at her… _something_ about his face, something in his gemlike purple eyes, that lifted a breathtaking thrill through her entire body.

She swallowed hard. Her heart was kicking up to an excited pulse, and the excitement translated to her fingers, prompting her to reach down and undo the buttons of her breeches. 

Sten’s eyes dropped to her fingers. Emboldened by his gaze, Yara pushed her breeches down. She awkwardly kicked her breeches aside, leaving herself naked aside from her smallclothes, then looked at Sten once more.

He was perusing her body slowly, his jewel-toned eyes moving from her breasts to her belly and down along her bare legs, and for the first time since she’d entered the cabin, Yara allowed her eyes to wander as well. She stared shamelessly at his wide muscular chest that was still rising and falling as easily as the tide, then down to the broad muscular planes of his abdomen, then–

Her heart leapt into her throat. His cock was standing at attention: a tall and undeniable rise in his trousers that told her in no uncertain terms that he was _very_ agreeable to what she was doing.

A heady rush of relief and excitement and desire fanned out through her chest and straight down to the apex of her thighs. With no further hesitation, she pushed her smallclothes down to her ankles.

She straightened up and confidently lifted her chin, and a fresh rush of satisfaction lifted her pulse even further: Sten’s gaze was more intense than before, and his lips were slightly parted now as he scanned her body. 

His eyes dropped between her legs, and Yara shifted restlessly from foot to foot. Her body was responding to his gaze as though it were a command, and a needy pulse of want was blooming between her legs the longer he stared at her. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, and Yara suddenly couldn’t take it anymore. Her heart was thrumming, and her body was a tingling mess of nerves and desire, and the distance between them – the handful of steps that separated her brazen naked body from his calm seated form: it was too much distance for her to tolerate.

She took a step toward him, then another and another, and then she was standing right in front of him as he continued to study her. He was so close now, close enough that she could smell the mind-numbing perfume of his skin; close enough for him to touch her, and close enough for her to touch _him_ if she was so inclined. But for some reason, Yara wanted Sten to make the first move.

She’d followed him here, both onto this ship and into their cabin. She’d stripped herself bare, exposing every inch of her skin for his perusal, making her intentions clear in the most obvious way she knew how. And now that they were here, now that she was bare and vulnerable with her heart exposed just as openly as her freckled skin, Yara _needed_ Sten to make the first real move.

She took a tremulous breath and carefully watched his face. His breathing was just as measured as before she’d removed her clothes, but there was a visible tension to his fingers now as they rested on his knees. His eyes were still moving over her body, and his formidable manhood was an undeniable beacon between his legs. 

But it wasn’t enough. The proud rise of his cock wasn’t enough. Sten could be direct and very blunt when he wanted to be, and this was a time when his bluntness was absolutely necessary. 

Yara waited with rising desperation for him to finish his careful appraisal of her body. When his eyes finally returned to her face, a hot pulse of lust dropped straight down to her sex: his expression was undeniably predatory, and his eyes were practically burning with lust. 

And finally, for the first time since she’d stepped into the cabin, he spoke. “It appears that you are no longer interested in talking,” he said.

She smiled at his deadpan tone. “No, I’m not,” she said softly. “Are you?”

“No,” he said. Then, at long last, he made a move: he lifted one hand and placed his palm on her chest, right below her collarbones.

Yara stopped breathing. His palm was big and callused and hot, and it was sliding slowly down her sternum, his thumb barely grazing the curve of her breast as his hand moved down her body toward her belly. His touch was exploratory and gentle, a simple stroke as is fingers traced along the length of her torso, but… gods, it felt so damned _good_. His touch wasn’t even overtly sexual, but it had been so long since she’d been touched like this — since she’d been seen like this, or even _wanted_ anyone to see her so exposed, and the sheer intimacy of Sten’s big palm on her naked skin was almost enough to pull a pleasured moan from her throat.

She pressed her lips together to silence herself. Sten’s hand was still on the move, sliding slowly along her waist to curve over her hip, and when his fingers moved down to encircle her thigh, she dragged in a desperate little gasp. 

His eyes rose to her face. She nodded eagerly to reassure him, and his gaze fell back to her body again. 

He slid his hand from her thigh back up to her hip. Then he lifted his other hand and ran one big finger between her legs. 

She burst out a gasp of pleasure and grabbed his shoulders. His index finger was pressing gently but unerringly into her folds, and she instinctively shifted her hips, curling her pelvis toward his hand as his finger smoothed through her slickness. 

He pressed his finger firmly against the swollen bud of her clit, and a bolt of pleasure coursed from her clit straight out of her throat in a moan. She clenched her fingers in his bare shoulders and lifted one leg to rest her knee on his thigh, spreading her legs to allow him easier access, and when he started caressing her with two fingers instead of one, she moaned again.

Sten made a lovely growly noise, almost like a deep purr of satisfaction. “You have a great need, _kadan,_ ” he murmured.

She forced her unfocused gaze to his face. “I need _you_ ,” she panted.

“That is obvious,” he said. He continued to pet her clit as he spoke. “At home, sometimes a… lotion of sorts is used to prepare for sex. But it doesn’t seem that you will need it.”

She burst out a fond little laugh at this rather unsexy statement. “Not if you keep touching me like this,” she said.

“Hm,” he grumbled. His other hand moved from her hip up to her ribs, and her breath hitched as his fingers brushed along the underside of her breast. 

He palmed her breast, and Yara burst out another pleasured gasp. His callused thumb was rolling over the peak of her nipple while his other hand played a perfect rhythm between her legs, and in the space of a few unfairly short minutes, his big strong fingers were coaxing her toward her peak. 

She gasped and dug her nails into his shoulders. When her climax finally struck, it was such an unfamiliar and dizzying relief that her knees nearly buckled. She cried out and arched her chest toward him, and when he took her nipple in his mouth, it only kicked her stuttering pleasure higher.

Sten firmly suckled her nipple, and she mewled in delight and cradled his jaw until her climax ebbed away. Shaky with pleasure and more riled than ever, she pushed his hand away from her sex and grabbed for the laces of his trousers. 

He watched patiently as she loosened the laces. When she finally beheld the size of his cock, her eyes went wide. His manhood was framed by a nest of pale hair that matched his braids, and he was… Creators, he was big. She wouldn’t be able to fully close her fist around him. His cock was proportionate to his imposing height and breadth, really, but he _was_ an exceptionally tall and muscular man, and his manhood was… exceptional. 

Fen’Harel help her, but she wanted his cock inside of her. She dearly hoped she would be able to take him.

Impatient now, she grabbed his cock and ran her hand down his length. He grunted and tightened his grip on her hip, and Yara revelled in the sound he made – that guttural, feral sound of pleasure: it was so grumbly and primal, like Sten was getting in touch with an unbridled part of himself that didn’t usually see the light of day, and Yara wanted so badly to see that side of him set free. 

She stroked his cock in a firm and careful rhythm, her other hand tenderly cradling his neck, and when his breathing was erratic, she stroked his jaw until he looked up at her. 

Her breath faltered again. His face was an uninhibited picture of pleasure, parted lips and twisted eyebrows and pupils dark and feverish with want, and he was utterly beautiful. 

She dipped her head to kiss him, and he flinched away from her.

Yara immediately drew back. His eyes were wide with alarm, and she had no idea why. 

She abruptly let go of his cock. “Sorry!” she blurted. “Sorry, I’m – did I hurt you?” She looked down at the tall rise of his cock, worried that she had injured him somehow. 

“You’re trying to kiss me,” Sten said.

Yara stared at him, confused by his slightly accusatory tone. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Should I not? Don’t you like kissing?”

“Qunari do not kiss,” he said.

It was Yara’s turn to go wide-eyed with surprise. “What?” she said dumbly. “What do you mean, qunari don’t kiss?”

“We do not kiss,” he said again. “It is not done by my people. It is so… intimate.” He wrinkled his nose very slightly at this, and Yara gaped at him with growing bemusement. 

“Wait a minute,” she said slowly. “ _Kissing_ is more intimate to you than sex?”

“Of course,” he said. He was gazing at her now as though she was being unreasonable. “Your mouth would be touching mine. It is extremely intimate.”

Yara blinked. What was wrong with being intimate? “But… but sex is always intimate,” she said. “If it’s not intimate, then what's the… um…” She trailed off nervously; Sten was still frowning at her, and she was suddenly afraid that she was ruining the mood.

“All right, no kissing,” she said quickly. “That’s completely fine.” She skimmed her fingers over the tip of his cock. 

His eyelids fluttered as his frown loosened into a look of pleasure, and Yara resumed her stroking of his cock, but she was preoccupied now. The qunari didn’t kiss? But… but kissing during sex was so nice. Did the qunari really not see any value in kissing during sex? 

Then something even more disappointing occurred to her. Sten had said kissing on the mouth was too intimate. What about kissing… other places?

Before she could stop herself, she opened her wayward mouth. “Does that mean qunari don’t do, um… never mind.” She pressed her lips together before she could finish the lewd question.

“Ask, _kadan_ ,” Sten said breathlessly.

She grimaced slightly. She didn’t really want to ask now, in case she broke the mood again, but she had no choice. “Do qunari not do oral sex?” she asked timidly. “You know, um… pleasuring someone with your mouth?”

“No, this we do,” Sten said, to her surprise. “It is very restorative.”

Yara paused in her stroking of his cock and let out a little laugh. “‘Restorative’? That’s definitely one way of putting it.”

He looked at her in surprise. “It _is_ restorative. Do you disagree?”

“No, not at all,” she said hastily. “I just – it’s not a word I would have used, but I agree with you.”

Sten studied her shrewdly, and she awkwardly tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. “What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“There is a reason you asked about this,” he said. 

She laughed a little nervously. Why did her stupid cheeks have to be so _hot?_ “Well, yes,” she blustered. “I was just, er, curious.”

Sten eyed her for a moment longer. Then he suddenly grabbed her hips, and a moment later, she found herself sprawled on her back on the bed. 

She gasped in surprise, then gasped more sharply still as his big strong hands clasped her thighs. “Sten,” she blurted. “What are you–?”

“I’m going to give you oral sex,” he said. 

She burst out another breathless laugh. It shouldn’t be at all sexy that he was using such clinical terms, but that hardly mattered when he was pushing her legs apart.

His roughened palms slid up along the insides of her thighs, and Yara arched her spine, desperate for him to do what he’d just said, but she couldn’t help but worry a bit that he was under duress. “Y-you don’t have to,” she whimpered. “I mean, I – I want this, but only if _you_ want to. Don’t do it if you don’t want to–”

“I want to,” he interrupted. “This will make you more ready. And you need to be ready for me, _kadan_.” 

Creators, the implied promise in his words, and the conviction in his smooth deep voice… A dizzying rush of anticipation bloomed through her body, and it rushed higher still when Sten slid his fingers through her wetness. He shuffled down on the bed and lowered his head, and her breathing stuttered with excitement–

He ran his tongue firmly between her legs, and she jerked and reached instinctively for his head. “Gentle!” she blurted. “A – a bit more gentle, please?”

He grunted. “I apologize. You are more delicate than I am used to.”

She scoffed slightly and shot him a wry look. “I’m not as delicate as I look, Sten.”

“I am well aware of that, _kadan_ ,” he said dryly. “I still bear an ache in my jaw where you struck me.”

She smiled at him, comforted by the hint of humour in his voice. “I could _kiss_ it better for you,” she teased.

He shot her a chiding look, and she laughed. Then all thoughts of teasing fled her mind when he slipped his tongue between her legs. 

He licked her more gently this time, light but thorough passes of his tongue that caressed her flesh before sliding smoothly around the pulsing bud of her clit, and Yara moaned and arched blissfully into his mouth. His tongue was circling her clit in a careful gentle rhythm, and when he angled his head slightly to caress her with his lips as well as his tongue, the breathtaking sharpness of her pleasure was tinted with amusement: Sten thought kissing was too intimate, but he has no problem with _this_? How could he think that kissing was too intimate when the opened-mouth kisses he was placing between her legs were lifting her to such an incredible height of ecstasy?

He kissed her sex with a mind-numbing thoroughness, his lips and tongue moving in tandem to push her to her peak, and when her climax struck, she was so riled by the intimacy of his mouth that she lifted her hips clear off the bed. When the dizzying rapture eventually ebbed away, she let out a lazy little laugh.

Sten straightened and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “What amuses you?”

She smiled at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to try kissing?” she asked. “Because you’d be _very_ good at it.”

Sten scoffed, and Yara sat up on her elbows with renewed hope; he was studying her face in a speculative way, and he hadn’t said yes, but he also hadn’t said no.

Finally he huffed and dropped her gaze. “Kissing serves no purpose.”

She chuckled and sidled onto her knees beside him. “It doesn’t have to serve a purpose. It just feels good.” She shrugged. “ _I_ find it restorative.”

He shot her an appraising look but didn’t reply, and Yara shuffled closer to him. “Would you like to try it?” she asked softly. “Just to see what it’s like?”

His gaze dropped to her lips, then returned to her eyes. “Yes,” he said. Then he frowned. “This is not a guarantee that I will like it, though.”

“I know,” she murmured. She gently stroked his cheek. “If you don’t like it, just tell me to stop.”

He nodded, and Yara smiled. Then, very slowly, she leaned toward him and brushed her lips over his.

It was more of a featherlight touch of the lips than a true kiss, just to get him used to the closeness of her lips. When he didn’t pull away or complain, Yara actually kissed him: a chaste little kiss, with no more pressure than she’d put into a kiss on the cheek. 

Sten still didn’t move away, so she kissed him again. When she kissed him a third time, he returned the kiss with a hint of pressure. 

Yara’s heart fluttered. She leaned away to look him in the eye, and when she found his face serious but relaxed, her heart fluttered again. When he nodded silently for her to continue, she felt even more hopeful. 

She shuffled closer to him and cradled his jaw in her hands, and this time when she kissed him, she parted her lips very slightly. 

Sten followed her cue, opening his lips slightly to match the parting of her own, and she had to force herself not to smile. They exchanged slow, gentle kisses for a luxurious minute, and when Yara was confident that he was enjoying himself, she placed one hand on his thigh.

He exhaled slowly against her lips, and the heated whisper of breath lifted her slow-simmering lust back to a boil. She kissed him more firmly and stroked his thigh, then suddenly took his cock in her fist. 

Sten groaned — that gorgeous, heart-melting sound of lust — and Yara squeezed his cock and touched her tongue to his lower lip. He grunted and jerked his hips toward her hand, and when Yara licked his lower lip more firmly, his tongue darted out to meet hers. 

A wave of excitement fanned through her throat and down between her legs. She dipped her tongue lightly into his mouth while sliding her fist down to the root of his cock, and he groaned again, that lovely growly sound that was nearly enough to drive her over the edge. A moment later she was stroking his cock while his tongue twined with hers, and his hand was smoothing up over her shoulder and cradling the side of her neck and – oh, oh _gods,_ his hand was sliding around to cradle the _front_ of her throat—? 

She gasped into his mouth with unabashed excitement. His big hand was almost encircling her throat in a gentle grip, and – Creators, no one had ever held her throat like this before, and she didn’t know why it was driving her into a lustful frenzy, but it was. 

She arched her spine and stroked his cock more quickly. Sten angled his head and delved his tongue into her mouth, and Yara whimpered shamelessly around his tongue. When she shifted her fingers up to stroke the head of his cock, he broke their kiss and dragged in a harsh breath. 

“Sten,” she mewled. His fingers were still curled around her throat still in a gentle grip, and the feel of his big strong hand at her throat was making her so wet that she couldn’t stand it. 

He exhaled harshly. “Are you ready, _kadan_?” he asked.

“Yes,” she blurted. “Yes, yes, I – I want you right now!”

He nodded and released her neck. Driven by her own desperation, she grasped his shoulder and straddled him before kissing him hard. His hands gripped her hips and their tongues tangled together, but as Yara grasped his cock and tried to position herself over him, a rising wave of dismay penetrated her lust: his hips were so broad that the spread of her legs was awkward, and trying to ride him in this position wouldn’t allow their bodies to meet very comfortably. 

She whimpered with frustration, and Sten grunted against her cheek. “You are too small for this position,” he complained. 

She burst out a little laugh and lightly smacked his chest. “Or maybe _you’re_ too damned big,” she retorted. She rolled off of his lap and onto her hands and knees, then looked at him over her shoulder. 

“What about this?” she asked eagerly. “Is this all right with you?” 

“Yes,” he said. He was staring at her upraised bottom with wide eyes. “Yes, this… yes.” He stood up and dropped his trousers, then kneeled on the bed behind her and took her hips in his hands.

Yara dragged in a shaky breath. She wanted Sten – gods and spirits and demons, she _wanted_ him badly, more than she could ever remember wanting anyone – but she knew exactly how big he was, and wanting him didn’t mean it would be easy to take him. 

He released her hip to grasp his cock. A second later, the head of his cock was nudging against her slick and swollen folds, and Yara gasped and arched her spine. “Yes,” she whimpered. “I’m ready, Sten, I’m–”

He began to push inside of her, and Yara broke off with a gasp. He was taking his time, sliding inside of her inch by careful inch, but before he was even halfway hilted, she was mewling at the intensity of the feeling. 

Sten slowed to a stop. “Are you in pain?” he said. 

She mewled again and shook her head. It didn’t hurt at all, to her surprise; it just felt… gods, it was _intense_ , like her body was shifting and reshaping itself to take him, and it felt… 

It felt good. It felt so incredibly good to be filled up like this, and she wanted _more._

“More,” she begged. “Keep going, Sten, please!”

He exhaled slowly, then continued to hilt himself inside of her. By the time his hips were flush to her bottom, Yara was gasping for breath as her body adjusted to being this incredibly full, and Sten was gasping out the most beautiful growly breaths she’d ever heard in her life.

She dragged in a breath. “Are _you_ all right?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he groaned. “I… I want to move. Tell me when I–”

“Now,” she blurted. “Now, right now. But — but slowly.”

“Yes,” he breathed, and he slowly began to pull himself free.

She moaned loudly at the exquisite emptiness that his retreat left behind, then cried out when he slid back inside of her more swiftly than before. A breathless minute later, he was pumping into her with long smooth strokes in a slow but steady rhythm, and with every stroke, an unusual and wonderful sort of tension was building deep down in her core. 

Yara squeezed her eyes shut and lowered herself to her elbows, then cried out in ecstasy as the pleasurable tension trebled. She thought she knew what this feeling was, but she’d never experienced it before, so she couldn’t be sure–

“ _Kadan,_ ” Sten gasped. “Are you–?”

“Don’t stop,” she blurted. “Just – please, Sten, don’t stop!”

He obeyed her plea and continued to pump his hips against her ass, and Yara clenched her fingers in the bedding. The exquisite tension was building low down in her body, like a thrumming tightness in the deepest muscles of her core. Sten’s fingers were digging into her hips, and his breathing was harsh and feral and more pleasing to the ear than any song she’d ever heard, and his every driving thrust was pushing that tension higher and deeper and stronger, almost like he was a musician tuning her body to find its perfect pitch with every driving thrust of his cock–

The tension suddenly burst, and Yara completely fell apart into a shuddering mess. She’d never had an orgasm that was this incredibly intense before: shivers of heart-pounding pleasure that rolled out from the apex of her thighs all the way through her entire body, down to her calves and all the way up to the roots of her scalp. She cried out, a wild feral sound that barely even sounded like her, and Sten continued to drive into her and drive the pleasure through her body. When he hit his own climax a moment later, the guttural groan that left his throat sounded just feral and satisfied as she felt. 

He released her hips and planted his palms heavily on the bed, bracketing her between his arms, and Yara smiled tiredly to herself; his body was curled over hers now, and she could feel the residual shudders of his climax through the imposing cage of his body. 

She reached out with one hand and curled her fingers over his. His fingers tensed slightly beneath her own, but he didn’t move away, and Yara languished happily beneath his body until the tremors of his pleasure ebbed away.

Then he pushed himself upright and pulled out of her. 

Yara rolled onto her back and smiled at him, but her smile quickly fell away; Sten was already on his feet and pulling on his trousers. 

A spike of anxiety pulsed through her chest, and she sat upright. “Hey,” she blurted. “Where are you going?”

“I am not going anywhere,” he said. 

1He wasn’t facing her, and his neutral tone did nothing to comfort her. When his trousers were laced up, however, he sat down at the edge of the bed.

Yara relaxed slightly, but she was perplexed by his behaviour. He was resting his palms on his knees again like when she’d first entered the cabin, almost like he was waiting for something, but… but _was_ he actually waiting for something? Why was he sitting there so awkwardly right after having sex with her?

She peered at him worriedly. “Sten, did I do something wrong?”

“It is not you,” he said. “I don’t know what happens now.”

She frowned in confusion. “What… what do you mean, ‘what happens now’?”

He glanced at her. “We have finished having sex. What do you do now?”

She gave him a small perplexed smile. “Do you mean me specifically? Or do you mean, um, the Dalish, or…?” She broke off and peered at him carefully. “Hold on. This wasn’t your first time, was it?”

He frowned. “Of course not. I have sex when the need arises. But I am unfamiliar with the customs here.”

 _The customs here?_ she thought in confusion. And what did he mean by ‘when the need arises’? But he’d asked her a question, and if she tried to ask for clarification without answering his question first, things would only get more confusing. 

“Uh, different people like doing different things after sex,” she said. “But _I_ like to lounge around in bed and cuddle. And then maybe get something to eat. And then, um…” She licked her lips nervously, then gave him a hopeful little smile. “Maybe… have sex again? If you want to,” she added hastily.

“I see,” Sten said thoughtfully.

Yara wilted slightly. So much for trying to gauge if the sex they’d just had was a one-time thing or a step forward in their relationship.

She gathered herself. She could always ask him again later. “Is this that different from what qunari do after sex?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Sten said. “We do not linger with the tamassrans when sex is over.”

Yara double-taked. “The tamassrans? The – but – wait a second. You said – I thought tamassrans were teachers and… and healers and priestesses!”

“Yes,” Sten said.

“So – so how…?” Yara was totally nonplussed. “Why – why do you have sex with them?”

He looked at her as though she was being dense. “Because they are healers.”

“Sex is… it’s a form of healing for you?” she said blankly.

“Of course,” he said. “The urge for sex is natural, but it must be properly channeled to keep the body and mind in balance, or illness can result.”

She stared at him, totally discombobulated by this revelation. “So… so you’ve never had sex with anyone who wasn’t a healer before?”

He shot her rueful look. “Not until now.”

“But… but what about…” She trailed off. Now it made sense why he had such disdain for intimacy during sex. From what he was telling her, sex wasn’t supposed to be an intimate act. It was an act of healing – a clinical, impersonal act meant to restore health, like medicine or a massage. It wasn’t meant to build closeness with someone you cared about. 

It wasn’t meant as an expression of love.

A dull pang of horror shot through her chest. “Is that what this was to you, then? A healing session?” she said weakly.

He turned toward her and gave her a very serious look. “No, _kadan_. This was… very different.”

“How?” she said tensely. “Why – how was it different?”

For a long, heavy moment, Sten continued to gaze seriously at her: one of those deep, piercing looks that never failed to make her heart pound in her chest. “Because qunari do not have sex with the people they love,” he said quietly.

She gaped at him. People they love? Did — did he mean what she thought he meant? He hadn’t directly said he loved her, but the implication was there… 

A rush of joy nearly rendered her lightheaded. She smiled and took his hand in both of hers. “Well, I’m not qunari.”

“I am aware of that, _kadan_ ,” he said. He sighed and squeezed her hand, then glanced at the bed. “Maybe we can try this… cuddling.”

Her heart fluttered excitedly, and she chuckled. “Don’t sound so skeptical. It’s really nice, I promise. Here, lie down.” She pushed his shoulders until he was lying back on the bed, then stretched out beside him. She snuggled up against his side and draped one leg over his, then propped her head on her fist and smiled at him. “There. Now we’re cuddling.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “But I am not doing anything.”

“You could,” she said. “You could put your arm around me. Or you could kiss me,” she added with a coy little smile. 

He scoffed. “Kissing. You _bas_ are very concerned with kissing. The female in _The Rose of Orlais_ will not stop thinking about kissing the chevalier.”

Yara laughed and ran her palm over his bare chest. “We do think about kissing a lot. I’m actually thinking about it right now.”

Sten shot her another sideways look. “You are flirting with me.”

“Yes, I am,” she said cheerfully.

He shot her a chiding look, then huffed and tucked one arm behind his head. “This flirting is inefficient. If there is something you want, you should ask.”

She smiled more broadly. “All right then. Sten, may I kiss you?”

He turned his head to look at her again, and her belly burst into butterflies; his lips were curled in a small but undeniable smile. “Yes, you may,” he said. “I would... like that.”

She beamed at him, then sidled on top of him and fondly stroked his cheek. His eyes were so soft, like glimmering violet pools of warmth, and Yara admired their clear and unusual colour before placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

He kissed her back, then tilted his head and deepened the kiss. His hand rose to slide over the bare skin of her back, and Yara smiled against his lips. He was right; kissing _was_ a familiar and intimate act, and one that she’d only vaguely thought about in passing for the past year or so. To be kissing Sten now, on a Rivaini ship while they were headed to the qunari capital all the way across the Amaranthine Ocean…. 

Creators, it was strange. Strange and wonderful and delightfully intimate. Here in their small and cozy cabin, stretched out on the steady heat of Sten’s big hard half-clothed body with his big strong hand travelling along the length of her back, Yara was happier than she’d been in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On qunari and kissing: it’s entirely my headcanon that the qunari don’t kiss. But it’s not entirely unheard of! Kissing is a bigger deal in Western culture than in other parts of the world, and even in Western culture it’s a relatively modern social behaviour. Many of the world’s cultures express affection and love in ways that don’t involve smooching, so that’s where the inspo for this headcanon came from. 
> 
> Also, um… is this a bad time to tell you guys that this fic has a sad/bittersweet ending…? I wasn’t completely certain at first of how I was going to end it, but I am certain now. Just a fair warning that there is angst to come. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your service. xo


	8. Vhenan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly NSFW and fluff! Only a tiny hint of angst.

_A traveler asked the Ashkaari: "What was your vision of our purpose?"  
The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story."_

_A vast granite statue stands on an island, holding back the sea.  
The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world.  
The sea drowns its feet with every tide.  
The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back.  
The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again.  
The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.  
Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against.  
The deception flows deeper. The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea.  
And is whittled away with each wave.  
It protests the setting sun, and its face is burned looking upon it. It does not know itself.  
Stubbornly, it resists wisdom and is transformed.  
If you love purpose, fall into the tide. Let it carry you.  
Do not fear the dark. The sun and the stars will return to guide you.  
You have seen the greatest kings build monuments for their glory  
Only to have them crumble and fade.  
How much greater is the world than their glory?_

\- The Soul Canto  
**************************

To Yara’s delight, her intimate encounter with Sten marked the first of many. They eventually rose from the bed when Sten’s stomach began to growl, and after a hasty late supper on the deck, they returned to their cabin and tumbled right back into bed.

A long and blissful sequence of days and nights ensued, days and nights where Yara and Sten spent much of their time twined together in bed or on the writing table or even against the wall of their small and cozy cabin. The size of his manhood eventually began to take its toll, and Yara was unable to comfortably have sex with him every single day, but that didn’t stop them from engaging in other equally satisfying activities: she happily took advantage of Sten’s strong fingers and tongue between her legs, and he eagerly allowed Yara to return the favour and take him into her throat.

As far into her throat as she could, at least. The first time she tried, she was kneeling at his feet, and his size and was almost an impediment. She had to ask him to lie back on the bed instead so she could kneel beside his hip and properly angle her head to take him into her throat. This position was better for them both, particularly when Sten reached down and slipped his fingers between her legs. He stroked her until she was whimpering around his cock, and when she came, her cries of pleasure were completely muffled by his girth filling her mouth. When he found his rapture a few minutes later, the taste of his seed was bitter and salty and every bit as delicious as the scent of his sweat. 

When they were both worn out from their carnal efforts, Sten read to her from _The Rose of Orlais_. He seemed more determined now to make progress on the book, even to the point of refusing to train so he could read to her instead. Yara didn’t bother to question his zeal, not if it meant lying pressed against him while his smooth deep voice lulled her into a comforting feeling of peace. 

That wasn’t to say they never trained. As the Rivaini ship drew nearer to Par Vollen, they continued to train together, but with much less frequency than before. Their morning sessions got completely supplanted by sex, but their hand-to-hand combat sessions continued in the late afternoons. Even these sessions became shorter, however; Yara was more distracted than ever by the infinite temptation of Sten’s bare chest and his fragrant sweat, especially now that she knew the even stronger masculine musk that scented the hair between his legs, and Sten often abruptly ended their sessions by claiming that Yara had “done enough for now”, followed by a wordless gesture for her to follow him back to their cabin.

Which was then followed, inevitably, by more sweat-drenched sex in whatever form her body would allow. 

Sten was a considerate and generous lover, which Yara shamelessly enjoyed. But in truth, she was a bit surprised by how thoughtful he was in bed. If sex was a healing service provided by tamassrans and Sten was a ‘patient’, so to speak, how was he so good at giving pleasure?

One day, when she was lying bonelessly on the bed trying to recover from the second orgasm he had given her in the space of fifteen minutes, she decided to ask. She rolled onto her side to face him. “Sten, I have a question,” she said breathlessly. “And it’s, um, probably going to sound rude.”

“Ask, _kadan,_ ” he said. He idly skimmed his knuckles over her bare hip, and Yara bit back a giddy smile at the casual nature of his touch.

“Why… how are you good at sex?” she asked gracelessly.

He raised his eyebrows, so she hurriedly pushed on. “You said it’s the tamassrans’ job to provide sex as a healing service, but you’re not a tamassran, so how are you — unless…” A thought occurred to her, and she tilted her head. “Do the tamassrans expect their, er, patients to help them release _their_ sexual urges?”

“They do not have that expectation, no,” he said.

“So if the point is for _you_ to have a release, why are you so good at… at making me come?” she said clumsily.

Sten tilted his head thoughtfully. “I have found that my release is more cleansing if the person I am with also has such a release.”

She blinked in surprise. “Sex is better for you if your partner comes too?” 

He nodded, and Yara gazed at him fondly. She didn’t know of many men who felt that way, qunari or no. 

“It was not always this way,” Sten said. “When I was young, I was not concerned about the release of the tamassran I was with. I was impatient, and I took what was offered without thinking. But I began to wonder — if they were using their hands on me, perhaps I could use my hands on them. If they performed oral sex on me, perhaps I could do the same on them.” He brushed his thumb idly over the dip of her waist. “They appeared to enjoy it, and I found the healing sessions more enjoyable as well.”

She affectionately squeezed his bicep. “Well, I’m glad you like to reciprocate.”

“I can tell,” he said.

His voice was wry. Yara smiled and poked his side. “What does _that_ tone mean?” she asked playfully. “Do you think I’m greedy in bed?”

A hint of a smile lifted the corner of his lips. “I think you have a great deal of tension that requires release,” he replied.

She laughed and pushed herself onto her knees. “Well, I’m not the only one,” she said suggestively. She pushed her hair back and bent over his belly to lick his abs, then slowly traced her tongue down toward the waistband of his trousers. 

She lapped hungrily at the salty skin below his navel, and he let out a slow relaxed sigh and slid his hand into her hair. When his cock was a stiff rod beside her cheek, she lifted her face and smoothed her palm along his length. 

“It looks like _you_ could use a release now,” she whispered.

He hummed in agreement and stroked his fingers along her scalp. She smiled, then eagerly took him into her mouth, and his rumbling groans of satisfaction and his fingers in her hair gave her just as much pleasure as his cock in her throat.

Another time, when they were in bed settling down to sleep, Sten asked about her previous relationship with Fenarel. She knew his questions stemmed from curiosity about _bas_ customs of mating and sex, but she couldn’t help but tease him a little. 

“Why do you ask? Are you jealous?” she said slyly.

He shot her one of his beloved looks of reproof. “Jealousy is _bas_ foolishness. It is premised on a false idea of ownership over sexual partners.” Then he raised an eyebrow. “Besides, there is no reason to be jealous when I am the one having sex with you.”

She chuckled. “Wise words.”

“Of course they are wise,” he said. “I am enlightened by the Qun.”

She laughed and lightly smacked his chest. “Smug qunari. All right, well... Fenarel and I grew up together. When we were teenagers, we…” She twisted her lips thoughtfully. “I suppose you could call him my first love, though it’s not as romantic as it sounds. For a while, our clan thought we would be lifemates, but we weren’t a good fit.”

“How do _bas_ determine if you are a good fit?” Sten asked.

She propped her cheek on her fist. “For me, it was that Fenarel isn’t… he’s not very intellectual. That’s not to say he’s stupid,” she said hurriedly. “He’s just… he doesn’t think very deeply about things. And there’s nothing wrong with that; I actually think it might be why he was so happy most of the time.” She shrugged. “But we just didn’t match up that way, so our relationship sort of… faded as we got older.”

“Yet you maintained sexual ties,” he said.

“Yes,” Yara said. “That was only for the past couple of years, though, since neither of us had met anyone else that we wanted to be with instead.” She shrugged again. “We had sex maybe once or twice a month when we were really in the mood. Maybe more.”

Sten sat up partway to look at her. “But this is not so different from my people’s motives for seeking sex with a tamassran. You also sought to release your sexual urges. Your mistake was in seeking that release from a companion and not a healer.”

Yara gazed at him in amusement. “Well, the Dalish don’t have sex healers, as you know.”

“Then you agree with me that it is a problem,” Sten said.

Yara laughed lightly. “That’s not what I mean. My arrangement with Fenarel was fine for both of us.”

“And what about your other clanmates who were not bonded to sexual partners?” Sten asked. “How did they channel their urges?”

“They had relationships here or there,” Yara said vaguely. “Sometimes they had a fling with members of other clans that we met while travelling, or during an Arlath’vhen. I always rather hoped to meet someone serious that way, but it didn’t happen.”

Sten frowned. “You had a sexual partner, but you wanted a different one?”

“Well, yes, but – it’s not the sex part that matters,” she explained. “I wanted someone that I could fall in love with.” 

His frown deepened. “That is very complicated, _kadan_ ,” he said. “Everything about your _bas_ relationships is needlessly complicated. You had a sexual partner, but you sought one that you loved. But the assassin elf sought sex with _no_ love. And some of your clanmates had no sexual partner at all, and were forced to suffer their own unmet sexual needs?”

Yara forced herself not to laugh at his indignation. “It is complicated, yes. But that’s just the way it is.” She tilted her head playfully. “What’s that qunari thing you like to say? ‘It is to be’?”

He scoffed. “You twist my words, and then you wonder why my people are so intent to enlighten you?”

She burst out a laugh, then rolled on top of him and contentedly stretched out on his chest. She thoughtfully propped her chin on her fist. “To be totally honest, the times when Fenarel and I had sex… I don’t know. It wasn’t always about the sex. It was… well, sometimes it was more about this.” She tapped Sten’s chest. “Feeling close to someone. Feeling… I don’t know. A little less lonely, even if it was just for a few minutes.” She cocked her head. “You really never wanted to do this with any of the tamassrans? Just… lie down and cuddle like this?”

Sten shook his head and smoothed his palm along her back. “It did not occur to me to do this.”

She nodded. It still stunned her to think that he hadn’t cuddled with anyone before, especially with how quickly he’d fallen into the habit with her. 

“Sten?” she said softly.

“Yes?” 

She swallowed nervously. “Do you like cuddling with me?” she asked.

His hand went still on her hip, and his eyes were serious when they met with hers. For a brief, pregnant moment, they simply gazed at each other in the dim moonlit cabin. 

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I am enjoying this.”

She smiled and petted his chest. “I like it too,” she murmured.

Sten gave her a faint hint of a smile, then closed his eyes. His hand continued to slide slowly from her shoulder blade down to her bottom and up again in a languorous caress, and Yara gazed at him with a swollen feeling of affection in her chest. His hand eventually slowed as his face softened into the slight frown that he wore while he was sleeping, and as she watched him drifting off to sleep, she couldn’t help but marvel at what she’d found. 

She’d always hoped to find love at an Arlath’vhen or during an encounter with another clan. Instead, the love she’d been waiting for had been travelling beside her for a year, and only now was she realizing what she’d been missing.

On another occasion, while they were reading _The Rose of Orlais_ on the forecastle deck, something odd occurred to Yara. 

She tapped Sten’s thigh to stop him from reading. “Sten, I just thought of something. Tamassrans are all female, right? And it’s only tamassrans who provide sex for your people?”

He looked up from the book. “That is true, yes,” he said.

“But what about qunari who prefer to have sex with men?” Yara asked. “How are they supposed to get their needs met?”

“There are tamassrans to meet every person’s needs,” he replied.

She frowned. “But you just said tamassrans are female.”

“Yes,” Sten said.

She waited for him to go on. When he didn’t elaborate, she wrinkled her nose. “Sten, I’m confused. If all the tamassrans are women, how can they fill the needs of the qunari who prefer sex with men?”

He stared back at her, apparently equally confused by what she was saying. “Tamassrans are female, regardless of their bodies,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “So… so wait. There _are_ men who are tamassrans?”

“If they are tamassrans, then they are not men,” he said. His reply was slow, as though he was speaking to a daft child, and Yara would have laughed if she wasn’t so perplexed.

“But…” She trailed off, then tried a different tack. “Are there tamassrans who have, um, male genitals?”

“Yes,” Sten said, a bit impatiently now. “But that does not mean that they are men. They are healers, and so they are women.”

She gaped at him in total bemusement for a moment. Then something snapped into place in her mind. 

“You define men and women by the role they play in the Qun, not by their bodies,” she said.

His shoulders loosened. “Yes,” he said. “We are born as men or women, and our purpose usually matches how we are born. But if a person’s purpose does not match their gender of birth, the gender changes to fit the role. These individuals are called _aqun-athlok._ ” He gave her a reproving look. “Gender is a very simple concept, _kadan_. I have never understood why the swamp witch and the healer mage got irritable over this.”

Yara stared at him for a long, dumbfounded moment. Then an incredulous laugh burst from her lips. She clapped her hand over her mouth, but it didn’t help; all of a sudden she was laughing hysterically, and she couldn’t seem to stop. 

Sten watched her with a weary sort of patience. “I didn’t realize I had become so amusing,” he said flatly.

She vaguely waved a hand. “No no,” she gasped. “I’m not – I’m not laughing at _you_. I’m just… oh, Sten.” She fondly patted his arm. “We thought you were being sexist this whole time, and it’s all… it was all a language misunderstanding.” She hiccuped a laugh and wiped the corners of her eyes. “You had no real problem with our small female bodies in combat, did you?”

Sten pursed his lips. “Your small female bodies are not optimized for fighting. But no, this is not a problem. You all manage to do a satisfactory job on the battlefield.”

She giggled. “I’m glad that we didn’t disappoint.”

“Your body never disappoints, _kadan_ ,” he said.

She gaped at him in delight. “Sten!” she exclaimed. “That was a huge flirt!”

He grunted and turned back to _The Rose of Orlais_. “Perhaps,” he muttered.

Yara grinned and sidled closer to him on the bench. “Well, I’ve heard that flirting is an inefficient way of getting sex. If you want something, then you should ask.”

He gave her a flat look, and Yara lifted her eyebrows in challenge. A moment later, Sten snapped the book shut, then suddenly stood up and scooped her off of the bench. 

She yelped in surprise, then burst out laughing as he tossed her over his shoulder. “Hey! I said _ask_ , not take!”

“You can call this another language misunderstanding,” he retorted, and he began carrying her toward the forecastle deck stairs.

She laughed and playfully pummeled his back as he carried her back to their cabin, where he then proceeded to show her exactly how _satisfactory_ he found her body to be. 

The days continued to slip by in a blissful flow of sex and reading and training interspersed by hastily eaten meals. As they drew closer to Par Vollen, however, Yara began to worry about what exactly would happen when they arrived.

Sten had told her that Par Vollen received very few foreign visitors, and those that came were interviewed extensively before being permitted to see the city. Even when visitors were approved, they were kept under constant guard, and there were still some places in the city that no _bas_ visitor would ever be permitted to go. 

But the question of visitation rights raised another question at the back of her mind. What if she wasn’t coming to Par Vollen as a visitor? What if she was hoping to stay? 

It was a huge question, and one that nearly gave her vertigo if she thought too much about it. Resettling in Par Vollen would be an enormous change in so many ways. It would mean permanently leaving behind her life in Ferelden: any possibility of reuniting with her clan, her Grey Warden responsibilities, any chance of seeing Alistair or Zevran or Oghren or any of her other companions again. It would mean getting used to an entirely new climate and learning an entirely different language, since most qunari in Par Vollen didn’t speak any of the common tongue at all. 

And most significantly of all, it would mean converting to the Qun. 

But even with all that — even if she was willing to give all of that up, including her freedom to choose her own life and to make her own mistakes, that still wouldn’t mean that she could have the one significant thing that was making her consider resettling with the qunari in the first place. 

It didn’t mean that she could be with Sten. 

Qunari didn’t fall in love. They didn’t have life partners. They had sex with tamassrans in a healing capacity, and never with the people they loved. From everything Sten had told her, she and Sten would not be allowed to continue their relationship when they arrived in Par Vollen. 

But Yara wasn’t qunari. If she stayed with the qunari but _didn’t_ convert to the Qun, then she wouldn’t have to follow their rules, would she? Was it even possible that she could stay in Par Vollen but _not_ convert? That had to be possible, right? After all, Sten hadn’t told her that she had to convert when they arrived. When she’d specifically asked him if she should convert, he had given her a neutral non-answer. That meant she could stay without converting, didn’t it?

She _could_ stay with Sten when they arrived in qunari territory, couldn’t she?

“ _Kadan._ ”

She opened her eyes in surprise. Sten was spooning her as had become their norm, and his breathing was a slow and easy tide against her back. She hadn’t been aware that he was still awake. 

“Yes?” she murmured.

“You are worrying about something,” he said. 

She shifted slightly in his arms so she could meet his gaze. “What makes you think that?”

He disentangled his hand from hers and showed her his wrist. Yara peered at it in the darkness, then winced; in the dim moonlight, she could just see the slightly darkened lines on his skin where she’d been scratching him. 

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” she muttered. She tenderly ran her fingers over his wrist. “I’m sorry, Sten. I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.” She tucked his arm around her waist once more, then snuggled back against his bare chest and tucked her hands beneath her cheek. 

They lay together quietly for moment, and Yara tried to relax into the slow in-and-out of Sten’s chest against her spine. Then he spoke again. “You are choosing to suffer by remaining silent.”

She snorted softly. “That’s not exactly a nice way of getting someone to talk.”

“It is not a matter of nice,” he said. “It is a matter of needless struggle on your part.”

She shook her head ruefully at his bluntness and didn’t reply. In truth, however, she was afraid. She didn’t want to ask Sten what would happen when they arrived in Par Vollen, because she was afraid of what his answer would be. 

She lay quietly for a moment as she mulled over her worrisome thoughts. Eventually she came upon something that she _could_ ask him — something related, but hopefully more benign.

She carefully shifted in his arms until she was facing him. Through the darkness of their cozy cabin, she peered at his stern and handsome face. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Always,” he said.

She smiled faintly at him, then took a deep breath to muster her courage. “Why did you have sex with me?” she asked.

His eyebrows rose slightly, and Yara hastily went on. “What I mean is — um. Well, you said that qunari don’t have sex with people they love, so then why – er, not that you — I don’t mean to assume that you…” She broke off awkwardly, mortified by her implication that Sten loved her.

He was still watching her with slightly raised brows, so she tried to regroup. “You said that sex is for healing, but that our, um… that you and I — that our relationship is different from that.”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “This is different than anything I have done before.”

“So why did you?” she blurted. “If it’s against the Qun to have sex that isn’t for healing, then why did you…” She trailed off in horror. It really did sound like she was fishing for him to say he loved her. But what else was she trying to get him to say, if not that?

 _Shut up, Yara,_ she scolded herself. _Quit while you’re ahead._ She let out a nervous little laugh. “You know what, forget I said anything. Let’s chalk this up to _bas_ foolishness. I clearly need some sleep.” She pressed her face to his chest so she could hide her burning cheeks.

He was silent for a moment. Then his hand stroked her shoulder. “There is a canto in the Qun: the Soul Canto,” he said. “I will tell you a small part of it. ‘The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back. The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against.’”

Yara pulled away from him slightly to study his face. His expression was soft and relaxed, and she admired the line of his brow as she pondered his poetic words. 

“The tide rises and falls, and there is nothing to struggle against…” She nibbled the inside of her cheek, then frowned at him. “But I feel like you could interpret that in different ways. When it comes to us, I mean. Do you mean that you’re still a loyal qunari whether you have sex with me or not? Or… or maybe you mean that this was inevitable and not worth struggling over?”

He ran his fingers slowly along her arm and back up to her shoulder. “Both interpretations are reasonable.”

She leaned away a bit further and smiled at him. “Multiple interpretations of the Qun? You really are an _ashkaari_ at heart.”

His hand went still, and he shot her a flat look. “Have you grown tired of our sexual episodes?”

“What? No!” she exclaimed in dismay. 

He grunted. “Then perhaps you should stop taunting me.”

She stared at him in confusion for a second, then burst out a laugh. “Wait a minute. Are you threatening to stop having sex with me if I don’t stop teasing you?”

He shrugged and resumed his stroking of her back. “Your reaction tells me that it would be an effective punishment.”

She laughed again and pressed herself provocatively against his front. “I’d like to see you try and stick to that punishment.” 

“Hm,” he grumbled. “You are challenging me.” 

“Maybe I am,” she said coyly. 

Sten grunted, then rolled her onto her back and tucked her beneath his body. “Then maybe I should find another way to occupy your foolish mouth,” he murmured.

She grinned at him, then happily accepted his kiss. A blissful moment later, when Sten lifted his lips from hers, she affectionately stroked his cheek. “I meant it as a compliment, you know,” she said softly. “When I said you’re like an _ashkaari._ ”

He frowned slightly, but Yara was undeterred. “Scholars are intellectual and curious,” she said. “They think carefully about the world and they try to understand it. That’s what you do, too.”

Sten grunted and rolled onto his back. “I am not an _ashkaari._ I am a sten of the _beresaad_. It is not my place to be curious about the world, only to report on it.”

Her heart twisted for him. He was so much smarter and more analytical than he made himself out to be – than the Qun made him out to be. 

She propped herself up on one elbow to look him in the eye. “You’re not just a simple soldier, _vhenan,_ ” she said firmly. “You’re more than that, whether the tamassrans said so or not.”

He tilted his head. “‘ _Vhenan_ ’? What is this word?”

Yara froze. “Pardon?” 

“You called me ‘ _vhenan_ ’,” he said. “I have not heard this word before. Is this a word of the common tongue?”

Oh gods. She’d called him _vhenan_? She hadn’t even realized she’d said it. Not that it was inaccurate, but now he was asking about it, and that meant admitting how she felt about him, and… 

_Creators help me,_ she thought desperately. She could feel her face going hot again. “No,” she said feebly. “It’s… it’s an Elvhen word. It means, um… it means ‘heart’. Or ‘home’. B-both, really. It’s — it’s something we call people that we, um, love.”

His face cleared with comprehension. “It is like ‘ _kadan_ ’, then.”

“Not… exactly,” she said reluctantly. “It’s… we have different words for different sorts of love.”

Sten frowned. “Different sorts of love?”

She wilted, feeling more humiliated by the second. “Listen, can we talk about this tomorrow?” she begged. “I’m, um, tired now.”

He nodded, and Yara hastily lay down on her side facing away from him. He curled himself around her and wrapped his arm around her waist, and Yara clasped his hand in hers and tried to force herself to relax. 

But she couldn’t relax. The conversation they’d just had was rattling in her chest and running circles in her mind, and Sten’s embrace was so steady and strong and warm, and… and Mythal save her, she did _not_ want to give this up when they got to Par Vollen.

“Sten,” she whispered.

“Yes?” he murmured.

She swallowed hard, then took a deep and bracing breath. “I love you,” she said.

He didn’t reply, and after a long, tense moment, Yara released her breath. She couldn’t blame him if he didn't feel the same way. They’d only been romantically involved for about a week, so maybe she was rushing a little bit. But… but they’d known each other for a year, so she wasn’t _really_ rushing–

“I love you, too,” Sten said.

Her heart seized with excitement. Sten loved her? She’d hoped that he felt this way about her, but to hear him say it–

And then she understood. The Qun only condoned one kind of love.

A cold stone of disappointment dropped into her belly. “You love me like your brothers in the _beresaad_ , you mean,” she murmured.

“No,” he said. 

Her heart leapt again. “No?” she said faintly. 

“No,” he said. “This is not like that. And this is why you did not fit with Fenarel.”

Another dizzying rush rippled through her chest. She rolled over in his arms to face him. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, exactly. I was… I wanted _this_.” She petted his bare chest. “This is what the word ‘ _vhenan_ ’ is for.” 

He nodded slowly, and his soft amethyst eyes traced over her face. “I understand.” 

She smiled at him, relieved that he understood and that he felt the same way. But she supposed she shouldn’t be so surprised that Sten understood her; he knew her better than anyone, after all. Even when she and Sten had disagreements or confusion or language misunderstandings, even the times when he’d challenged her during their cross-country travels, she always felt as though he _saw_ her. Like he saw what she was trying to say or who she was trying to be, even if he didn’t completely agree. He was the only one who understood her preference for quiet, and the only one who had made her talk and really _listened_ , and… gods, she had waited her whole life to know someone like him. Of all the people she’d grown up with and all the people she’d met during her insane year as a Warden, she had never known anyone else like Sten. There was no one else with the same combination of silence and sarcasm, of stoicism and sympathy, of brains and brawn and tradition and curiosity, and Yara loved him more than she had the words to say.

Luckily, she and Sten communicated equally well in silence as they did with words. 

She reached up and stroked his neck, then shuffled closer to him and pulled him close for a kiss. He tightened his arm around her waist, and she cradled his neck in her palm, and then they were moving slowly in the bed, Yara shifting beneath him as he positioned himself between her legs, and all the while they were kissing. Their lips met and parted in a slow caress as he smoothed his callused palm over her breast, as she clenched her fingers against his collarbones, as he hooked her leg over his arm to spread her wide and curled his hips to rock himself against her creamy heat… 

Sten slid inside of her in a smooth, long stroke, and Yara gasped into his mouth. He groaned, that lovely guttural sound that she loved so much, then slanted his mouth over hers in an ardent kiss. 

They moved together in their shared bunk on the Rivaini ship, and Yara stopped thinking about Par Vollen and converting to the Qun and what would happen when they debarked the ship. She thought only about Sten: his hands on her body and his cock filling her up and his perfect sounds of pleasure humming against her lips. 

She thought only about Sten, her _vhenan_ , and she savoured the feeling of having found her heart and her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) for anyone who wants to swing by. xo


	9. It Is To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. 😞

_A traveler asked the Ashkaari: "What was your vision of our purpose?"  
The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story."_

_A vast granite statue stands on an island, holding back the sea.  
The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world.  
The sea drowns its feet with every tide.  
The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back.  
The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again.  
The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.  
Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against.  
The deception flows deeper. The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea.  
And is whittled away with each wave.  
It protests the setting sun, and its face is burned looking upon it. It does not know itself.  
Stubbornly, it resists wisdom and is transformed.  
If you love purpose, fall into the tide. Let it carry you.  
Do not fear the dark. The sun and the stars will return to guide you.  
You have seen the greatest kings build monuments for their glory  
Only to have them crumble and fade.  
How much greater is the world than their glory?  
The purpose of the world renews itself with each season. Each change only marks  
A part of the greater whole._

\- The Soul Canto  
*****************************

Sten turned the page and continued to read in an endearingly flat voice. “‘If you think I will be leaving you in this state, you are sadly mistaken.’ Lyonne fluttered her scarves. ‘And what state is that, my good chevalier?’ Garren stood, and Lady Lyonne gasped: his manly sword was rising more quickly than the morning sun. ‘A state of such modest dress, of course,’ Garren said, and he ripped off his shirt. ‘Now come, _ma chérie_ , and let us end the day like only two beautiful citizens of Val Royeaux can do.’”

Yara smiled and nestled more securely into his chest. “Is it terrible that I’m imagining Garren to look and sound like Bann Teagan?” she asked. 

Sten glanced at her. “Why do you imagine that?”

“The awful flirting,” Yara said. “Orlesians aren’t the only ones who use terrible lines.”

Sten frowned, and Yara smiled more widely. “Don’t you remember? When we were in Redcliffe, I asked Teagan if he had any family, and he immediately assumed that I was asking if he was single.” 

Sten’s frown deepened. “I have no memory of this.” 

Yara chuckled. “He said I was lovely. I was covered in undead blood at the time. It was very odd. I can’t believe you don’t…” She suddenly stopped, then laughed again. “Oh Creators, I know why you don’t remember. You weren’t with me at the time. You were in the village terrorizing the children.”

Sten _harrumph_ ed. “I do not terrorize children. I am not at fault for the foolish preconceptions of _basra imekari_.”

Yara grinned at him. “Sten, you stole cookies from one of them.”

He scowled. “ _Kadan,_ I told you before: I did not steal the cookies. I relieved him of the cookies for his own good.” 

She giggled and settled back into his chest. “All right, all right, the cookie thievery was very noble of you. Do you want to finish this chapter, and then we can go spar for a bit?”

Sten shook his head. “We should continue reading. I must finish this book in the next three days.” 

“Why?” she asked.

“Because we will land in Par Vollen in three days,” he replied.

“Ah,” she said. “I was wondering if you were trying to finish it before we got there.” She gave him a cheeky smile. “Why the rush? Are you going to report on it to the Arishok after all?”

He huffed. “Very funny, but no. I will not be permitted to keep this book when we arrive.”

She leaned away from him slightly. “You can’t keep it? Why not?”

“It will be confiscated and handed over to the priesthood,” Sten said. “They will study it for strategic value, and if there is no value to be found, it will be ground into mulch and made anew into paper for our own books.”

Yara sat up on one elbow. “Seriously? That seems extreme. It’s just a romance novel. I hardly think it needs to be destroyed.”

“It will not be destroyed; it will be repurposed, as I told you.” He sat up as well and turned to face her. “My people do not waste anything, be it books or people. Everything has value and purpose, even _bas_ literature.”

A cold sort of tingle stole over the back of her neck, and she frowned. His expression was oddly serious.

She tapped _The Rose of Orlais._ “But you said this book was drivel.”

“It _is_ drivel,” Sten agreed. “But that does not mean it is not dangerous. Reading is the surest way to spread ideas, whether those ideas are the true wisdom of the Qun or foreign notions such as… the ones that are inscribed here.”

A chill washed through her chest. She knew what he meant: foreign notions such as romantic love and sex. And the fact that Sten had avoided saying these words… His avoidance was somehow more ominous than if he'd just spoken bluntly like he usually did. 

She was getting a bad feeling about this. “But… but _you’ve_ been reading this romance novel,” she said. “So you’ve got foreign ideas in your head now.”

“Reading this novel is the least of it,” Sten said. “I am steeped in _bas_ ideas from travelling among you for over a year.”

 _Oh gods,_ she thought. If Sten thought he was full of foreign ideas just from travelling with her and her companions, then… 

Her pulse was starting to race. She took a deep breath to try and calm herself. “And… what about us?” she said faintly. “Our relationship? This… us being together is a product of foreign ideas.”

“Yes, _kadan_ ,” he said, very quietly.

The implication in his words, his talk about repurposing, the subtle softness in his stern expression… _Fenedhis,_ she really didn’t like where this was going. It felt like something terrible was looming over her shoulder, like a demon that she didn’t know the shape of yet, but one that she’d known was there all along and had been trying to deny. 

Sten was looking at her still with his soft purple eyes. The topic she’d been trying so hard to avoid was upon them, and Yara had no choice but to face it.

She took a deep breath. “Sten… what’s going to happen with us when we get to Par Vollen?” 

“I will report to the Arishok, as my mission demands,” he said. “And then I will turn myself over to the Ben-Hassrath.”

“Turn yourself over?” she said blankly. “Why — what’s the Ben-Hassrath? Are they some sort of city guard?”

“They are a branch of the priesthood, governed by the Ariqun,” he said.

She gazed at him in rising confusion. “But you belong to the army, not the priesthood. Why are you reporting to a branch of the priesthood?”

Sten took her hand, and Yara froze. The affectionate gesture would usually please her, but combined with the look on his face, it only scared her more. 

“Do you recall the parable I told you?” he said. “Of the _ashkaari_ and the laundress?”

“Yes,” she said tensely.

He nodded. “Tell me what you remember.”

She licked her dry lips. “You said that the _ashkaari_ wanted to know why the laundress wasn’t soaking the clothes for longer to get all the stains out. The laundress told him that soaking the clothes for too long would make the dye bleed out, and… something like stained clothing still has value, and that if the stains are too obvious, then the clothes are…” She trailed off as her sense of something terrible ratcheted higher still. 

“They get re-dyed,” she said faintly.

“Yes,” he said. 

She stared at him pleadingly. “But… I don’t understand.” She tried to pull her hand away, but Sten squeezed her fingers.

“You do,” he said. “You do understand.”

She shook her head. “No, I… please, Sten, just tell me,” she begged.

He gazed calmly at her: a sharp contrast with the thrumming agitation in her gut. “My people are the cloth,” he said. “Yours are the water, and your ideas are the stains. The Ben-Hassrath perform the process of re-dyeing.”

She gazed at him in growing disbelief. “So you… you think you’re — what, that you’re stained from spending time with us? With me?”

“It is not a matter of what I think. It is a matter of what is,” he said. “I am not the soldier I was when I first arrived in your lands. The Ben-Hassrath will help me return to what I was before I left.”

Return to what he was? What in the Void did that _mean?_ “But – Sten, you’re not an object,” she argued. “You’re not just a piece of faded cloth that can be dyed a different colour. What does going to the Ben-Hassrath actually mean?”

“In truth, I do not know,” he said. “Only the Ben-Hassrath truly know what the process of re-education entails. But I know that it will restore my purpose and my enlightenment.”

Re-education? She really didn’t like the sound of that. “But you don’t need to be… re-educated or whatever,” she said tensely. “You’re still a good qunari. You’re still loyal to the Qun!”

“The fact that we are in bed together now is proof that I am not,” he said. 

She stared at him in growing horror. With every panicked beat of her heart, her feeling of everything crashing down was growing worse. 

She shuffled closer to him and squeezed his arm. “Sten, I don’t like this,” she said pleadingly. “I don’t think you should do this. Re-dyeing a person? You can’t just… you can’t re-dye people. You can’t just start over and force people to think a different way. People don’t work like that.”

“Evidently they do,” Sten said. “Re-education has been a mainstay of my people for many ages.”

“But… but isn’t the fact that re-education is necessary — isn’t that proof that people _don’t_ work like that?” she said. “That they need to be able to change?”

Sten shook his head. “It is proof only that we have one choice: whether to struggle, or to accept. I choose to accept.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “This is what must happen, _kadan._ When we arrive in Par Vollen, I must report to the Ben-Hassrath for re-education.”

She pulled his hand away from her hair and clutched his fingers. “And what about me?” she demanded. “What will I… what am I supposed to do in Par Vollen while you’re doing that?”

“You cannot come to Par Vollen,” he said.

A jolt of shock coursed down her throat. “ _What?_ ” 

“I have already paid the captain for your passage back to Denerim,” he said. “When we arrive, you will remain on the ship, and the captain will take you home.”

Yara gaped at him in silence, dumbstruck by this sudden turn of events. Sten was sending her back to Denerim? He was making her go back without him? In all her worried imaginings of what would happen, she hadn’t foreseen this. 

“I… I don’t understand,” she said finally. “I came all this way, and you’re just sending me straight back to Ferelden? Why?”

“You have a purpose in Ferelden,” Sten said. “It is a worthy one. You do not need another.”

She stared at him, stunned by the unfairness of this. Why was Sten the one who was suddenly in charge here? What made him think that he could just decide to send her away? 

“And what if I want a new purpose?” she said.

His eyebrows rose slightly. “What?”

She pulled her hands away from his. “What I do isn’t up to you,” she said. “I don’t have to go back to Denerim just because you said so. What if I want to convert to the Qun? What if _I_ want to be re-educated, too?” It was a petulant bluff, and Yara knew it; she didn’t _really_ want to convert to the Qun, especially not if it involved having her way of thinking be ‘re-dyed’, whatever that ominously meant. But the thought of Sten sending her away so suddenly, like she didn’t matter to him at all… 

“It is not about wanting,” he said. “It is the way of things. You have a purpose, and it is not here.”

His reply was calm and measured, and it made her chest hurt even more. She swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat. “B-but you said some people can visit in Par Vollen. Why won’t you even let me visit?”

“Some _bas_ can visit if they are not deemed an immediate threat to the Qun,” he said.

She frowned. “And you think they’d consider _me_ an immediate threat to the Qun?”

“It is a risk you should not be willing to take,” he replied.

 _Or what?_ she thought. But Sten’s response was foreboding enough that she didn’t want to ask. 

He was still gazing at her steadily, just gazing at her with those beautiful jewel-like eyes, and the lump of distress in her throat swelled again. “I don’t want to go back to Ferelden,” she said. “I want to stay with you.”

“You can’t,” he said. “You know this, _kadan_.”

His tone was especially gentle, and to Yara’s horror, a tear ran down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away as Sten continued to speak. “You have listened to what I have told you of the Qun. You know that the ties between us are forbidden. And when I have finished with the Ben-Hassrath, you will not want to stay with me.”

A fresh bolt of dismay curdled in her gut. “What? What do you mean? Why not?”

He inhaled slowly before replying. “I will go back to being the soldier I was before I left. I will not feel the same way about you as I do now.”

“Wha… what are you saying?” she said faintly. “They’re going to make you forget me?”

“I will not forget you,” he said. “But I will not want to be with you anymore.”

She stared at him breathlessly. It felt like he’d just kicked her in the ribs. Her chest was literally hurting from what he’d just said. 

She forced a painful inhale. “And you’re fine with that?” she rasped. “You’re fine with just… letting this get wiped away?”

He lifted his shoulders. “How I feel about it is of no consequence. It is to be.”

“No!” she blurted. “No, it’s not! It’s — you don’t _have_ to do this!” She gripped his hands. “Let’s just turn around and go back to Ferelden together!”

For the first time since this conversation had begun, he dropped her gaze. “ _Kadan_...”

“No, hear me out!” she begged. “We can just go back to Ferelden. You don’t have to let them take you.” She cradled his face in her trembling hands. “We can just go back to Ferelden and keep on living our lives!”

He met her gaze once more. “And what would we do with these lives?”

“I’m still a Warden,” she said eagerly. “I still have my purpose, just like you said. I still have Warden things to do. I need to root out any darkspawn leftovers and… and, um, I need to meet up with Alistair, and we’ll – we’ll recruit and all that in case there's another Blight.”

“And me?” Sten said. “What would I do?”

“You would come with me, of course,” she retorted. “We would travel together. Maybe you could even become a—!” She stopped short before suggesting that he become a Grey Warden too. What if he died during the process? That would be worse than letting the Ben-Hassrath take him. 

His eyes were steady and his face was calm, but this only made Yara feel more agitated. She floundered for a response. “You could… you… look, we can figure it out,” she said desperately. “But what matters is that you would still be yourself! You wouldn’t have to be re-dyed!” 

He shook his head slowly. “If I turned my back on my people, I would no longer be the man you know. I would be a Tal-Vashoth. I would be worse than dead.” He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Is that what you want for me? That I become irredeemable even to my own people?”

“No!” Yara said plaintively. “That’s not what I’m saying! I just…” Another tear escaped her eye, and she hastily wiped it away. “I love you,” she said. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I am my purpose, _kadan_ ,” he said softly. “Without purpose, I would be lost to you anyway.”

She scoffed and tried to force back the tears that were pressing at the backs of her eyes. “Well, it looks like I’m going to lose you no matter what, then,” she retorted.

“Yes,” Sten said.

She looked up at him, hurt by his bluntness. She pulled her hand from his and pushed the sheets off of her legs. “You don’t love me,” she said tremulously. “Not really. If you did, you wouldn’t be so cold about this.” She got out of the bed and started pulling on her breeches.

Behind her, she heard him shuffling over to sit at the edge of the bed. “I do love you,” he said. “But love is not purpose for qunari.”

She spun around to face him. “Well, I’m not qunari, all right?” she snapped. “I’m — I’m a stupid emotional _bas_ who thinks that love is important and who followed you like an idiot all the way here from…” She trailed off. Something horrible had just occurred to her.

She met his eyes. “How long have you known you were going to do this?” she demanded. “How long have you known you were going to leave me behind when we got to Par Vollen?”

He frowned slightly. “Why does it matter?”

“Because it tells me how much of a bastard you are,” she retorted. “Was it before or after we started having sex?”

“Before,” he said.

She paused, surprised by this. “You… you were going to make me stay behind even before we started having sex?” she asked. 

He nodded, and Yara frowned. “But we — our relationship wasn’t a problem for the Qun before that.”

Sten shook his head. “That is incorrect. It has been a problem since I allowed you to join me on this ship.”

She inhaled slowly to try and control her rising anger. “So you’re telling me that from the minute I set foot on this ship, you knew you weren’t going to let me come into Par Vollen with you?”

Sten sighed and rubbed his chin — the first sign of agitation he’d shown during this whole conversation. “No,” he said. “At first, I was uncertain of what you should do when we arrived in Par Vollen.”

“Then why did you even let me come with you?” she demanded.

“I don’t… know,” Sten said. “I was… not thinking at the time.”

Yara stared at him. She’d never heard him sound so uncertain. 

A tiny bitter laugh escaped her lips. “You don’t know? You sound like me.”

He shot her a sharp look. “I am aware of that. All the more reason I must go to the Ben-Hassrath.”

She recoiled, hurt once again by his implication that being like _her_ was so bad that it needed to be re-dyed or… or re-educated, or whatever he was going to do. She inhaled through the painful vice around her ribs. “You should have told me you were going to send me back,” she accused. “You should have told me when I got on the ship!”

“There was nothing to tell when we first got on the ship,” he said in a hard voice. “You did not know why you were here. I did not know why I had invited you to come.” He leaned forward slightly, and Yara noted with a pang that he was glaring at her now. “This may come as a shock to you, but I am not a soothsayer. I could not predict what would happen.”

“What do you mean, what would happen?” she snapped. “What sudden change could possibly have happened to make you realize that I couldn’t actually come into Par Vollen with you?”

“I realized that you were considering joining the Qun,” Sten said.

“So?” Yara yelled. “Why does that make a difference?”

Sten stood up and took a step toward her. “If you join the Qun, you will find wisdom, but you will change,” he said. “You will be given a new purpose, and I cannot predict what that purpose would be. If you joined the Qun, you would not be the same person you are now.”

She held up a hand. “So let me get this straight. You’re going back to the Qun to let them brainwash you, but you don’t want _me_ to join the Qun and get brainwashed.”

“You — _vashedan._ You do not need the Qun,” Sten said angrily. “You have wisdom and purpose already, even when you are too emotional to see it. The Qun would change who you are now.” He took another step toward her. “I love you as you are now.”

“Good thing the Ben-Hassrath will be curing you of that, then,” Yara said bitterly.

His eyebrows rose, and a surge of remorse twisted in her gut. What she’d just said was terribly cruel, especially since she knew deep down that Sten never meant to be cruel to her. When he’d questioned her about her purpose, when he’d tried to keep her at a distance, and even now when he was trying to keep her out of Par Vollen: in the most logical corner of her mind, Yara knew that Sten was not trying to be cruel. 

But anger was still pulsing hotly at the backs of her eyes and in her ears, and she couldn’t force an apology past the rage. She folded her arms defensively and looked away from his brilliant purple eyes. 

A moment later, Sten stepped back and left the cabin, closing the door behind him and leaving her alone. 

Yara stood frozen in place, stunned by the sudden silence and the terrible echo of their argument in her head. She was still reeling from the fact that he was making her go back to Denerim, and truth be told, a small part of her wanted to debark in Par Vollen just to spite him. 

But Sten wouldn’t have told her to go back to Ferelden without a very good reason. No matter what he thought, he _was_ a loyal qunari, and he wouldn’t have warned her off unless coming to Par Vollen would mean something she really wouldn’t like. 

But going back to Ferelden without him? Being alone again, after having found the kind of connection and love that she’d always hoped to find? 

The throbbing pain in her chest pulsed in her throat. She slowly sat at the edge of the bed and bowed her head, and tears she’d been holding back finally spilled over. 

She couldn’t believe this. She couldn’t believe Sten was leaving her like this. All the conversations they’d had, the sparring and the unexpected laughter and the incredible sex, all of that after having grown to know and love each other over the course of a long and difficult year of facing foes together: after all of that, Sten was willing to just throw it all away like it didn’t matter? He was willing to let the Ben-Hassrath brainwash him into thinking that she didn’t matter? 

If he was willing to drop her so easily, how much _did_ she matter to him, really?

She choked out a sob and wiped her cheeks, and for a minute she allowed herself to sink into a painful morass of self-pity. But the self-pity did nothing to soothe her heartache, especially when part of that heartache was a horrible sense of guilt.

She knew Sten loved her. He might not be as demonstrative in his affections as Alistair or Leliana, but he was far more tender and open with his heart than she’d ever imagined he would be when they’d first set foot on this ship. He’d gone against his entire upbringing to be with her, and he was going against his upbringing by trying to protect her from it. 

And how did she repay him? By basically telling him she was glad he was going to get re-educated. 

She heaved a heavy sigh and dragged her fingers through her hair. “I’m an ass,” she muttered. She lifted her head and breathed carefully to quell her remaining tears, then rose from the bed and washed her face before leaving the cabin.

She stepped out onto the deck. It was early dusk, and the sailors were gambling and drinking while a couple of the more musically-inclined crewmembers played a fiddle and a drum. They greeted her casually as she stepped onto the deck, and she smiled awkwardly at them before looking up at the forecastle deck.

Sten was sitting on the bench alone. No, not alone: Fen’ain was sitting beside him, and Sten was scratching the mabari’s head — something Yara had never seen him do before. Sten would spar with Fen’ain or play fetch with him on the pretext of training, but Yara had never seen him pet the mabari in an affectionate manner.

A fresh pang in her chest made her eyes burn. She blinked carefully to quash the tears, then made her way quietly to the forecastle deck. 

She sat beside Sten. He glanced at her briefly before returning his gaze to Fen’ain. 

Undeterred by his neutrality, Yara took his hand in both of hers. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry, Sten. I was horrible to you before. I… I _really_ don’t want the Ben-Hassrath to change you. Gods, that’s the… it’s the last thing I want. You — you know that, right? You know I didn’t mean it? I was just angry, and I — not that that makes it all right,” she stammered. “It’s not all right, and I shouldn’t have said it, and I — I’m… I’m so sorry.”

He nodded but didn’t meet her eye. But he didn’t take his hand from hers, either. 

Yara carefully laced her fingers with his. They sat silently on the bench together while Sten continued to scratch Fen’ain’s ears. 

A few long, melancholy minutes later, he spoke. “Misery is a choice,” he said.

Yara wilted. “Sten—”

“Stop talking,” he said. “Let me speak.”

She closed her mouth and raised her eyebrows, and Sten exhaled slowly. “Misery is a choice,” he said again. “It was my choice to keep this misery to myself. I did not want…” He trailed off and shook his head slightly, then finally looked her in the eye. “If you had known what was to come, you would have suffered. I did not want that for you.”

A bittersweet feeling squeezed her heart. “You didn’t tell me because you wanted me to be happy with the time we had,” she murmured.

He nodded, and Yara sighed and closed her eyes. Sten had kept this suffering to himself so she could be happy? It was… gods, so selfless. And sweet. And horribly painful. 

The lump of misery was swelling in her throat again, and she forced herself to breathe through it. Then Sten spoke again. “If I had told you, would it have changed anything?” he said. “Would you have acted differently? Chosen not to enter a sexual relationship with me?”

“No,” she said immediately. “I… no. It would have changed nothing. I would have still chosen to be with you.”

He nodded. “It is to be,” he said calmly. He looked her in the eye again. “You and I were meant to be, just as we were meant to end.”

His face was stern as always, but his gaze… he was looking at her in that piercing way, like he was seeing more than she’d ever deigned to show anyone else, but his eyes were soft and bright. 

Yara sobbed suddenly. Sten’s eyes were bright with tears, and she couldn't believe she’d thought for even a second that she didn’t matter to him.

He put his arm around her, and she curled into his bare chest and covered her face with her hands. Then Sten’s lips brushed the crown of her head. “I am glad you came,” he said quietly. “I did not want to spend these last days alone.”

Her chest throbbed, a horrible aching feeling like her heart truly was breaking in her chest, and she sobbed again. “Sten,” she whimpered, but she couldn’t say anything more; she was crying hard like she had that night when they’d discussed _asala-ataar_ , like an eruption of half-quashed feelings were suddenly unfolding and spouting from her eyes and mouth.

Fen’ain whined and rested his chin on her knee, but she ignored him; she was too mortified and miserable to reassure him right now. She tucked her face against Sten’s chest and clamped her lips shut to try and stop the tears, but her whole body was shaking now with the efforts to stop herself from bawling, and it felt _awful_.

“Come,” Sten murmured. He eased himself away from her, then carefully picked her up.

She sobbed and hooked one arm around his neck, keeping her face hidden in her other hand. Sten carried her back to their cabin, and as soon as the door closed behind them, Yara burst into horrible noisy tears. 

Sten silently carried her to the bed and sat down. The second he was sitting, she shifted awkwardly until she was straddling one of his broad thighs, then wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against the side of his neck. 

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, and Yara sobbed. “I l-love you,” she cried. “I don’t… don’t want you to–” An uncontrolled hiccup burst from her throat and cut her off, and she struggled to finish her sentence. “I don’t want you to change,” she sobbed. “I love you as you are n-now, too.”

“I know, _kadan_ ,” he said softly. His big callused palm was smoothing slowly along the length of her back and stroking her hair, and it felt so good and so soothing that it _hurt_. 

She tightened her arms around him, and Sten held her close with one arm while stroking her back and her hair with the other, and Yara sank miserably into the bitterness of how good it felt to be in his arms. 

It wasn’t until their cabin was draped in the gloom of early night that Yara finally stopped crying. Heartsick and exhausted from her tears, she slumped silently in Sten’s embrace, her forehead still pressed to his neck and her arms draped loosely around his shoulders. 

He was still gently stroking her back. Yara finally sighed and lifted her face from his neck. “You can let me go now,” she said quietly. “I’m all right, I promise.”

He ran his fingers through her hair. “I would prefer to continue holding you.”

His voice was a little husky, and Yara pulled away slightly to look at him. He turned his head away from her, but in the dimness of their shared cabin, she could just make out a slight shine just beneath his eye. 

Her heart twisted painfully. “Sten…” 

He frowned and quickly wiped his face. “I am not crying,” he said sternly. “Sten of the _beresaad_ do not cry.” 

Yara cupped his face in her hands and kissed his forehead, then pressed her lips to the tip of his pointed ear. “You’re not a sten of the _beresaad_ right now, _vhenan_ ,” she whispered. “You’re _my_ Sten. Until we get to Par Vollen, you can cry if you want. You can do anything you want.” 

His jaw tightened, and Yara watched tenderly as he tried to master himself. She stroked his cheek and pressed her lips to his forehead once more, and when she pulled away to look at him again, a tear ran down his cheek. 

He immediately brushed it away. “ _Vashedan,_ ” he muttered. Then he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. He tucked his face against her neck this time, and his embrace was tighter than before. 

Yara hugged him firmly in return, and when she felt a trickle of moisture on her neck, she simply hugged him harder. 

The night faded on, leaching the remaining hints of sunlight from their cabin and leaving only streaks of moonlight behind, and Yara and Sten continued to hold each other in silence. Eventually they lay down on the bed, shedding their clothes clumsily in order to feel the heat of each other’s skin, and when they began to kiss, the salt that Yara tasted on his lips was the most terrible proof of how much she mattered to him. 

They kissed and stroked each other’s bare skin, shifting slowly beneath the sheets until Sten was looming over her. They moved together in a slow celebration of skin-to-skin, Sten’s much-larger hands holding hers down to the bed as they breathed together in their shared bed, and still they were silent, and Yara was relieved.

The talking they had done today was more than enough. For the rest of the night, Yara didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to think or cry or brood over what was going to happen in just a couple of too-short days. 

She wanted to… be. Clasped in the warmth and safety of Sten’s bare-armed embrace, Yara just wanted to _be_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will come out on Friday. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/), for anyone who wants to swing by.


	10. Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst again. I'm sorry guys... 😭

Three days.

Three days was all the time they had left. And as much as Yara wanted to enjoy that time, the cruel knowledge of their imminent end was torture. 

She barely slept at all that night. She lay curled in Sten’s arms with the in-and-out of his breathing against her back, and she tried to savour the warmth of his embrace as she usually did, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that in three days’ time, this would all be gone.

Their relationship would be gone. His desire for her would be gone. By his own admission, the Sten she knew and loved would be gone.

She wanted to beg him to reconsider. To come back to Ferelden with her and find himself a new purpose outside of the Qun. But the more she thought about it, the more her mind kept coming back to the same conclusion: if Sten left the Qun, he would feel like he was betraying himself, and that would make him suffer, even if he believed suffering was a choice.

And as much as _she_ was suffering now, the last thing she wanted was for Sten to suffer too. 

_But why should I suffer alone?_ a petulant part of her mind asked. How was it fair that Sten was getting what he wanted, while Yara was stuck with nothing? 

The injustice of it rose in her chest like water boiling over, but she didn’t speak or move; Sten was asleep behind her, his chest warm and secure against her back, and waking him up to yell at him wouldn’t make matters any better. Besides, despite her anger, she knew that re-education wasn’t _really_ what Sten wanted. 

He wanted her, and she knew it. But he was a good and loyal qunari, and wanting anything for himself made him selfish and unworthy of the Qun — in his mind, at least. And when Yara remembered that, it only made her feel miserable again, this time for him. 

The rest of the night passed in this way: an awful cycle of misery and anger at Sten and resentment of the Qun that circled back to misery once more. By the time dawn came, she felt exhausted and tense all at once. 

She was quiet for most of the day. They ate their breakfast in silence and returned to their cabin and had sex, and all the while, Yara barely said a word. Anything she wanted to say would either sound like whining or vitriol or shameless begging, and she had enough pride that she didn’t want Sten to see her in such an unflattering light. Instead, she kept her thoughts to herself. 

In some ways, it was a comfort to return to a familiar mode of being: of distilling the sadness into something small and manageable like she usually did, rather than letting it explode in a mess of horrible tears like Sten’s quiet patience over the past three weeks had caused her to do. 

That afternoon, however, while they were lounging in bed reading _The Rose of Orlais_ , Sten stopped suddenly and clasped her left wrist. “ _Kadan_ , speak.”

 _Damn,_ she thought. She’d been scratching herself again. 

She gently twisted her wrist out of his grip and folded her arms. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“A river may be silent, but that does not mean it isn’t flowing,” Sten said.

Yara smiled faintly at his poetic metaphor, then sighed. “Honestly, I don’t… I have nothing useful to say.”

“I would hear it anyway,” he said. “Do not feed your _asala-ataar_.”

She shot him an irritated look, but his expression was calm and expectant, and finally she shrugged. “I’m just…” She trailed off. 

“You are angry at me,” he said.

A pang of guilt pulled at her chest, and she shuffled a little closer to him. “Not… really,” she said. “It’s not really your fault.” She twisted a strand of hair between her fingers and tried to figure out how to explain herself in a way that didn’t sound completely childish and selfish.

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “If I’m angry at anything, I’m angry at the Qun. I hate that it doesn’t allow for this.” She gestured between herself and Sten. “There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“There is,” he said. “This would keep your from your purpose, if you allowed it.”

She swallowed hard and reminded herself that he wasn’t trying to hurt her. “People can have more than one purpose,” she retorted.

“No,” Sten said. “Your purpose can shift and change, and you will change to match it. But there can only be one purpose at any given time.”

She scoffed. “You can’t really think that people are that simple.”

“This is in no way simple. It is extremely complex,” he said. “Your purpose is who you are, and who you are governs how you fit into the world. You are a part of the whole, as is everyone else. How can you properly play your part if you are attempting to juggle more than one?”

She scowled and didn’t reply. She couldn't decide what she hated more: the rigid and inflexible way he was thinking about this, or the fact that she could actually understand his point of view. 

She dropped his gaze. “I hate the Qun,” she muttered.

He reached out and brushed her hair back. “You cannot hate the Qun,” he replied.

She glared at him, incensed by how infuriatingly certain he sounded. “Why not?” she demanded. “Why can’t I hate the – the entire… system that’s taking you away from me?”

“You have said that you love me,” he said. “Without the Qun, I would not be the person you have come to love.”

Her heart twisted. Why did he have to be so bloody calm about this? Worse yet, why did he have to be right?

A tear burned its way down her cheek. She covered her mouth and swallowed hard, then glared at him again. “I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“You must,” he said, to her dismay. “You told me that talking is what helps your people, and it helped you accept your _asala-ataar_. It will help you accept this.”

“But I don’t want to talk about this!” she snapped. “I don’t have anything nice to say! I’m just – I _am_ angry, all right? Is that what you want to hear? I’m angry about the – the re-education and — there’s nothing wrong with you, all right? I hate that you think there is. And I _hate_ that we didn’t have more time. It’s not fair,” she yelled. “And I–” She broke off with a sob, then dragged in a breath to try and calm herself. 

Sten rested his hand on her thigh, and she sobbed again. “I hate that I’m ruining this by being so awful right now,” she cried. “Sten, I’m sorry. I… I wish I could just… go along with it and not be angry, but I c-can’t.”

He pulled gently on her thigh, and she followed his wordless direction and straddled his lap so he could hug her. She listlessly draped her arms around his neck and allowed the tears to trickle down her face, and all the while, his hand moved slowly along the length of her back in a soothing caress. 

“It is to be,” he said quietly.

Yara wilted — Sten was _always_ saying this — but he kept speaking in his calm deep voice. “You have struggled to accept this, but accepting it will help you in time.”

She pulled away. “How?” she complained. “How will it help me to just accept that this is the way it is? Accepting terrible things is like giving up, Sten. People shouldn’t just accept that awful situations are just the way it is. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I am talking about your anger,” he said. “You struggle against it like a rock holding against the tide. Let your anger be. Let it carry you, and it will ebb away like the tide. Struggle against it, and it will carve you away piece by piece.”

She clenched her jaw, and Sten leaned away to look her in the eye. “Do you not feel calmer now than before you spoke to me?”

“Yes,” she said with some annoyance. “But it’s not because the anger went away. I’m still angry.”

He nodded. “Let the anger be. Let it wash over you. It will wane in time.”

She shot him a skeptical look. “Even if letting it be means me yelling at you?”

“I prefer it to your silence,” he said. “I am fond of your voice, even if you’re yelling.”

His words sent another painful pang through her chest, not to mention a little guilt. She really didn’t want to ruin these last days by being bitter and snappish. 

She stroked his face tenderly. “I’ll miss your voice, too,” she whispered.

He nodded again. “Then allow me to read to you. We have only seven chapters left.”

She managed a little laugh and poked his chest. “Just admit that you’re enjoying the book, Sten.”

“I am not enjoying this book,” he grumbled. “I am driven to complete a task that I began.” He eased her off of his lap and picked up _The Rose of Orlais_ , and when Yara was settled snugly against his side, he began to read out loud. “‘Garren swelled indignantly at the commander’s command. ‘I, ser, will be seeing you on the field of battle. And when I do you, had better hope your armour is well in place.’” 

Yara closed her eyes and tried to focus on the heat of his skin and the soothing cadence of his voice. For the rest of the day, when the injustice of his imminent loss rose in her mind to torture her again, she forced herself to talk to him or to yell at him or to cry on his chest instead of tamping the ugliness down like she usually would, and Sten listened quietly while she wore herself out. By the time night fell, she was so tired from the crashing waves of anger and the ebbing of despair that she fell deeply asleep in his arms. 

When Yara woke up on the morning of their second-last day together, she felt far calmer, though the knowledge of their imminent parting still sat heavily in her chest. When she rolled over in bed to face him, he raised his eyebrows slightly. 

She dropped his gaze. “Maybe you were right,” she admitted. “I don’t feel… quite so terrible today.” She didn’t feel good, not by any stretch of the imagination, but the incessant writhing of anger and pain in her gut seemed somehow soothed. 

“That is good,” Sten said.

She managed a small smile. “Do you want to read to me today? Four chapters left, right?”

“Yes,” he said. “We will read after we eat.”

She nodded, and shortly afterwards, they rose and went to the deck to fetch some food. To Yara’s surprise, the day felt relatively normal; they ate breakfast together and read some of _The Rose of Orlais_ , but Yara soon requested that they stop reading so they could talk instead. Not about their impending separation – she was exhausted from talking and thinking about that – but about their travels together and their lives before they’d met: normal, benign, pleasant topics that didn’t have the power to bring her to tears. They talked for most of the day, interspersed with meals and making love, and when the day blended gradually into night, Yara was so fatigued from talking that she once again fell asleep curled against the solid strength of Sten’s bare chest.

On their final day together, the day before they were due to arrive in Par Vollen, Yara opened her eyes to find Sten already awake.

He was gazing at her in silence. His face was all stern lines: the creases in his forehead and the stern line of his brow and the stoic curl of his lips. But his clear amethyst eyes were meltingly soft as they traced over her face.

Yara wordlessly returned his stare, and after a long and loaded moment, she stroked the line of his jaw. She slowly slid her fingers around to the nape of his neck and pulled him close for a kiss, and for a time, the only sounds were the soft press and pull of their lips and the shifting of the sheets as he positioned himself over her body. As they moved together in the privacy of their cabin, the softness of their breathing and the hushed sound of skin sliding against skin was worth more to her than any further words. 

They spent the day largely in silence, but the silence was neither tense nor cold; it was a mutual silence of serenity, a comforting sort quiet that Yara had only ever enjoyed with Sten. It was a silence born of understandings both spoken and unsaid; a silence premised on love and fear and acceptance of regrets that both of them had already taken the time to express.

They spent almost the whole day pressed together in their bed, at Yara’s insistence. In some strange corner of her mind, she thought perhaps if he kept touching her, stroking her skin and pressing himself inside of her until it wasn’t pleasurable anymore, perhaps it would be enough. But it did not work out this way. Even when she began to feel raw from the constant rhythm of his cock, even when Sten demanded a break to recover his stamina, Yara still wanted his hands and his body and his mouth. Even when they were both tired, even when the swollen bud between her legs was so tender from stimulation that it nearly hurt to touch, she asked Sten to touch her anyway, to slide his fingers inside of her and to take her nipple in his mouth as though he could imprint himself on her body – as though the touch of his hands and the traces of his seed and his sweat would bleed through her skin and into her flesh, keeping the part of him that he was going to lose when he stepped off of this ship. 

That final night, they remained awake all night. They were exhausted, but by unspoken agreement, they didn’t let each other sleep. There were three remaining chapters to _The Rose of Orlais_ , and Sten doggedly read them out loud by the flickering light of the oil lamp. 

It was long past midnight when Sten finished reading the final line of the final chapter. When the book was done, he put it aside and looked at her. 

She stared back at him, trying to memorize the exact shape and colour of his hooded eyes beneath his heavy brow. Without breaking from his gaze, she sidled onto his lap and cradled his face in her hands. She stroked his cheeks and carefully studied his beloved face, the stern shape of his lips and the creases in his forehead, then lowered her face to his and gave him a light and careful kiss. 

He tilted his head and parted her lips with his own, and Yara languorously followed his lead as he drew her into a deep and careful open-mouthed kiss. They kissed silently, the sort of silence that befitted the gravity of the situation at hand, and when Sten shifted her off of his lap and gently turned her around to face the wall, she passively followed his lead. When they made love for the last time, it was with her hands pressed to the wall while Sten pumped slowly into her from behind, his chest flush to her back and his callused hands roaming from her breasts to her hips and between her legs before banding around her waist in a tight embrace while he breathed heavily into the damp mass of her hair. He surrounded her in every sense of the word, trapping her smaller body against the wall with the imposing breadth of his body and the strength of his arms and the intoxicating cursed scent of his sweat, and Yara closed her eyes the entire time, all the better to sink into the cage of his body as he filled her up. 

When the act was done, Sten drew slowly away from her, and his seed trickled down the inside of her thigh. He reached between her legs to wipe it away, but Yara stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “Leave it,” she whispered. The slow path of his release matched the trail that her tears were tracking along her cheeks, and it only seemed fitting somehow. 

He nodded, then pulled her down to lie facing him in the bed. His hand moved over her skin from her shoulder down to her bottom and back up again, a slow and careful path that had quickly become his habit, and Yara gazed longingly at his face while her tears trickled into the pillow. 

The cursed morning came slowly but surely as the ship slid closer to Par Vollen. The sun sent slivers of light through the porthole window, slivers that gradually widened to illuminate the cabin, but Sten made no move to rise from the bed, and nor did she. 

Some time later, later enough that Yara’s stomach was growling, the noise on deck became more lively. The captain was barking out commands, and the sailors called out to each other as they moved around the deck with more briskness than usual, and Yara knew what this meant: they would be docking soon. 

Sure enough, the captain’s voice called out in a loud voice that carried through to their cabin. “Par Vollen is twenty minutes out! Prepare for docking!”

Neither Yara nor Sten replied. His eyes were steady on her face, and Yara couldn’t look away; every second that ticked by was a second closer to him leaving her for good, and she needed to keep every moment with him in her mind for as long as she could. 

Then, for the first time in hours, Sten spoke. “What will you do when you return to Ferelden?” he asked.

She had been thinking about this, of course, and she knew what she was going to do. But she couldn’t resist teasing Sten one last time. 

“I thought I’d meet up with Zevran,” she said. “Become a rogue assassin with him. I could collect little trinkets from my kills and add them to his belt.”

Sten quirked one eyebrow; he obviously knew she was joking. “If you have suddenly become suicidal, drowning yourself in the Amaranthine Ocean would be a less painful end.”

Yara smiled at his macabre remark. “All right, you got me. What I’m really thinking is to track Morrigan down. Maybe she’ll teach me how to become a spider.”

Sten huffed. “And you wonder why the Qun would consider you a threat.” 

Yara let out a soft little laugh. His words were blunt, but his hand smoothing over her skin was infinitely gentle, and Yara finally gave him a serious answer. “I’m going to help rebuild the Fereldan branch of the Wardens,” she said. “Anora gave us that chunk of territory in Amaranthine, so I’ll head there. Hopefully Alistair will be there with some of the Orlesian Wardens, so I can jump right into whatever they’re doing to help stop any future Blights.”

“Is that what you want to do?” Sten asked.

She shrugged. “It needs to be done. This won’t be the last Blight, so someone needs to be around who can help stop the next one, or teach other people how to stop it. Alistair and I are able to do this, so that’s what we’ll do.”

Sten continued to stroke her skin in a slow and soothing rhythm. “That is a worthwhile task.”

She smiled faintly at him. “Some might even call it a worthwhile purpose.”

His expression softened, and he ran his fingers through her hair. Yara swallowed the swelling of tears in her throat and gave him a tiny smile. “Besides, I’ve been missing Alistair’s terrible jokes. They’ve probably only gotten worse in the past few weeks.”

Sten grunted. “I do not think that’s possible.” 

Yara chuckled softly. She shifted closer to Sten and tucked her head beneath his chin, and for a while longer, they lay twined together in the bed while she filled her lungs with his spicy masculine scent. 

Soon after, far too soon, the ship came to a stop, and someone knocked on the cabin door. “We’re docked!” the sailor called.

“Understood,” Sten called back. Then he leaned away and looked down at her. 

She painfully returned his gaze. Her chest felt like it was full of stone, and her throat was so thick that she didn’t dare to speak. She’d known that this moment would hurt when it came, but she hadn’t realized it would feel so damned surreal. 

He smoothed his palm over her hair once more. “You can remain here. You do not have to see me off.” 

“No,” she croaked. “No, I…” She cleared her throat. “I’m coming to say goodbye.” 

He nodded. Then, slowly, he pushed himself upright and began to sidle out of the bed.

Yara sat up and watched him as he put on his clothes. She watched him as he washed his face and brushed his teeth and ran a hand over his braids, and only when he turned back to her, dressed and ready to face the day, did she slide out of bed and start getting dressed herself. 

She didn’t look at him as she put on her clothes. She combed her hair and twisted the front of it into a simple braid, the same as she had done on the day that Sten had asked why she was called a redhead, and when she finally looked up to meet his eye, her heart pulsed painfully in her throat. 

He looked utterly stoic and calm, like the stern and stone-faced qunari soldier that she’d first met over a year ago. But his beautiful violet eyes were shining with tears. 

She stepped close to him. “Sten of the _beresaad_ don’t cry,” she whispered. 

“I am well aware, _kadan_ ,” he replied, and a tear rolled down his cheek. 

She reached up to wipe his tear away, but he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Her face was pressed into his warm and fragrant chest, and she closed her eyes and hugged him back as tightly as she could. Tears were trickling freely down her face and soaking his skin, but she couldn’t be bothered to wipe them away.

They held each other for a long time, so long that it started to ache more than to soothe, almost like pulling an arrow too slowly through a wound. But Yara couldn’t bring herself to let him go. She pressed her palms into his back and breathed in the smell of his skin, and when the closeness between them began to feel unbearable, Sten finally pulled away from her. “Come,” he murmured.

She pulled in a shaky breath and followed him to the door. He picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder, then ushered her out of the cabin, and Yara squinted; the sun was bright and hot, and it felt utterly incongruous with the darkness of her mood. 

She followed Sten onto the deck and shot a cursory look at their destination. In truth, Par Vollen was incredible: the buildings boasted architecture like she’d never seen before, angular and imposing and grand, and even with an amateur eye, she could see that the city was laid out in organized rows and alleys – far more organized than in Denerim, for certain. The docks were cleaner and more orderly than any she’d seen in Ferelden, and they were manned by at least a dozen stern-looking qunari guards, all of them wearing only pauldrons or other scant armour as they surveyed the docks.

It was strange and foreign and incredible, and Yara didn’t care. 

She turned to Sten, who was crouching in front of a sad-looking Fen’ain. “You are a brave warrior,” Sten said to the mabari. “Do not forget your discipline.”

Fen’ain whined softly, but his seated posture was straight and his tail was still. Sten nodded, then scratched Fen’ain’s neck before rising to his feet to face her. 

She looked up at him and took a deep, slow breath. She was determined to keep this farewell as neutral as possible so as not to embarrass him in front of his people, but the longer she stood here facing him, the harder this became. Standing so close to him without being able to touch him? Seeing that painfully stoic look on his face, and those even more painfully soft purple eyes?

Sten broke the tense silence. “I would like you to keep _The Rose of Orlais_ ,” he said. “Do not discard it on your return to Ferelden.”

“Of course,” she said tremulously. “Of course I’ll keep it.”

He nodded, and they gazed at each other silently for a moment longer. Then Sten held out his left hand. 

Yara’s heart throbbed in her throat. She held out her left hand as well, and Sten clasped her forearm in a brisk gesture. 

He lowered his voice. “I meant what I said before,” he murmured. “When my people return to your lands, I will not look for you on the battlefield.” 

His voice was neutral, but his thumb was brushing tenderly over her wrist – the wrist that she was prone to scratch when she was upset. 

She swallowed hard, then nodded; she understood what he really meant, and the words he was really referring to. 

_I love you, too,_ she thought. She squeezed his forearm in turn. “Goodbye, _vhenan_ ,” she said. 

Sten pursed his lips, and Yara’s heart twisted at the subtle sign of his distress. He released her forearm. “ _Panahedan, kadan,_ ” he said. Then he turned away from her and walked away. 

He stepped onto the gangplank and made his way down to the docks, and Yara pressed her knuckles to her mouth as she watched him walk away. Her throat and her entire face were hurting now from the strain of holding back her tears, and when Fen’ain leaned his weight against her leg, she couldn’t bear it any longer. 

“Come on, _lethallin_ ,” she rasped, and she swiftly made her way back to the cabin with Fen’ain in her wake.

She opened the door for Fen’ain, then followed him inside. When the door was closed, she promptly burst into tears. 

Fen’ain whined and nudged her hand, and she sank down to the floor beside him. She buried her face in his furry jowls, but his doggy smell instantly reminded her of Sten. Sten had always hated Fen’ain’s smell, and now Fen’ain was in the cabin that she and Sten used to share, and Sten would be so displeased if he knew…

She wrapped her arms around Fen’ain’s neck and sobbed unabashedly into his smelly fur. By the time she had worn herself down, her head was throbbing from crying so hard, and all she wanted was to go back to bed. 

She pushed her aching body upright, then collapsed onto the bed and curled up on her side. Fen’ain lay down on the floor beside the bed, and for the rest of the day, Yara stayed in the cabin, rising only to let Fen’ain out and to relieve herself and to get a drink of water. 

It wasn’t until the next day, when the ship pulled out of the Par Vollen docks, that Yara really made a move to leave the bed. She cleaned herself up in the evening and went out onto the deck to eat supper with the crew, and she was grateful both for their sympathetic smiles and for the privacy they gave her by not asking her any questions. She listened to their stories and played a round of cards with them, and when Sten’s absence on the forecastle deck became too terrible to ignore, she allowed herself to go back to the cabin.

She sat wearily at the edge of the bed, and her eyes fell on _The Rose of Orlais_ , which was sitting on the small writing desk. Yara gazed sadly at it for a moment before going to pick it up. 

She listlessly opened the cover; maybe she’d read those first few chapters that Sten had read without her. But as soon as she opened the cover, she froze.

There was handwriting on the inside cover: tidy block letters that Yara instantly recognized as Sten’s handwriting. She had no idea that he’d left an inscription in this book. She wasn’t sure when he would have even found the time to write it.

With a painfully pounding heart, she read what he had written.

> The Soul Canto
> 
> A traveler asked the Ashkaari: "What was your vision of our purpose?"  
>  The Great Ashkaari replied: "I will tell you a story."
> 
> A vast granite statue stands on an island, holding back the sea.  
>  The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world.  
>  The sea drowns its feet with every tide.  
>  The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back.  
>  The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again.  
>  The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.  
>  Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against.  
>  The deception flows deeper. The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea  
>  And is whittled away with each wave.  
>  It protests the setting sun, and its face is burned looking upon it. It does not know itself.  
>  Stubbornly, it resists wisdom and is transformed.  
>  If you love purpose, fall into the tide. Let it carry you.  
>  Do not fear the dark. The sun and the stars will return to guide you.  
>  You have seen the greatest kings build monuments for their glory  
>  Only to have them crumble and fade.  
>  How much greater is the world than their glory?  
>  The purpose of the world renews itself with each season. Each change only marks  
>  A part of the greater whole.  
>  The sea and the sky themselves:  
>  Nothing special. Only pieces.

Under the canto, he had added three sentences.

> Any wisdom I learned in your lands, I learned from you. 
> 
> It was meant to be. I will not forget.

By the time she reached the end of the inscription, her chest and throat were aching from how very _Sten_ his note was. Of course he’d left her a piece of qunari wisdom, followed by a compliment and two subtle tiny sentences that only Yara would recognize as being words of love.

“Sten, you ass,” she sobbed, and she laid down on the bed and buried her face in the pillow.

For the rest of the trip, she read Sten’s inscription every day and night and imagined that he was reading it to her in his soothing baritone voice. As the days went by and the ship made its way to Amaranthine, where the captain had agreed to take her, Yara found herself thinking more and more about the Soul Canto after she finished reading it at night. 

_The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again,_ she thought idly as she lay in bed. _The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against._

One day, when they were about ten days out from Amaranthine, she went into her pack and dug out a small book: the slim volume of essays and notes about the Grey Wardens that Brother Genitivi had given her. She went out onto the deck and made her way up to the forecastle deck, then sat in Sten’s old spot on the bench and opened up the book for the very first time. 

For the rest of the trip home, she made a point of reading a little bit of the book of Grey Wardens every day, and every night, she continued to read the Soul Canto with the memory of Sten’s beloved voice in her mind. 

_If you love purpose, fall into the tide,_ Sten told her. _Let it carry you. Do not fear the dark. The sun and the stars will return to guide you._

On the day that they arrived in Amaranthine, the weather was bright and blustery. Strands of Yara’s hair blew in the breeze as she stepped onto the docks, but she didn’t bother to pull up the hood of her cloak; the sun was bright and warm on her hair, and she was grateful for the warmth after the blustery winds during the last two days on the ship. 

A sudden memory rose in her mind: Sten telling her that the sun brought out a hint of gold in her hair. The bittersweet memory brought a pang to her chest, but the pang was small and brief, like pressing on an old scar rather than the wrenching of a new wound. 

She smiled to herself, then clasped the captain’s hand in thanks before making her way toward the city proper with Fen’ain by her side. 

“Yara! _Yara!_ ” 

She looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. Sure enough, Alistair was jogging toward them dressed in a lighter version of his usual Warden armour, and his face was wreathed in a huge smile. 

Yara smiled back at him, then patted Fen’ain’s head. “Go get him, _lethallin_ ,” she whispered. 

Fen’ain barked once, then bolted toward Alistair and leapt up to plant his paws on Alistair’s chest, and Yara laughed as the mabari almost bowled him over. By the time Alistair had righted himself, Yara had reached his side. 

He grinned at her, then offered her a dramatic bow. “Lady Mahariel, welcome to Amaranthine: home of the Grey Wardens.” He pulled a little face. “Well, Grey Wardens and all the, you know, townspeople who’ve lived here forever. Still feels a bit weird that Anora just gave us this entire arling, but who am I to complain?” 

Yara smiled at him. “It’ll be good for us,” she said. “A good place to rebuild. Are there any other Wardens here yet?”

Alistair gave her a funny look, but he replied easily enough as he led her toward the city. “About a dozen Orlesian Wardens are around. There were more, but they spread out to go take care of the lingering darkspawn. They’ve been an ongoing problem along the road from here to Denerim…” He trailed off and peered at her. “Hey, are you sure you want to talk about this right now?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you just got back,” he said. “You don’t want a rest or something? A nap? A snack, maybe?”

She shook her head. “I ate and rested on the ship.”

Alistair widened his eyes in a meaningful way. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to talk about something else?”

Yara smirked in fond exasperation. “Just ask, Alistair. I know what you’re thinking.”

He widened his eyes even further. “Me? Thinking? Don’t be stupid, I never think. Not ever.”

She shot him a chiding look, and he finally sighed. “All right, all right, since you twisted my arm. Did you and Sten, you know…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Another pang pulled at her chest, but Yara expected it, and it was overshadowed by her amusement with Alistair’s antics. She widened her own eyes and feigned innocence. “Did we what?”

Alistair elbowed her. “Come on, you know. Did you, er… lick his lamppost?”

Yara laughed. “Alistair!”

“What?” he protested. “You said I could ask!”

“All right, fine,” she chuckled. “Yes, I licked his lamppost. Are you happy now?”

Alistair scrunched up his nose. “No, actually. I made a bet with Zevran, and I just lost. But Zevran left me a whole list of questions to ask you as a follow-up. Do you want to hear them now, or–?”

“Creators, no,” Yara interrupted. “There are children around. Let’s save that for after we get some work done.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Look at you, all businesslike.”

“Of course I am,” Yara said. “We’ve got a lot to do if we’re going to rebuild the Order.”

His expression sobered. “You’re different,” he said slowly.

Yara tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“You’re more… certain,” Alistair said. “Not that you weren’t certain before, you always did good decision-making and all that, but you seem more…” He made a ‘smooth’ gesture with his hand. “Serene. Stoic. Stone-like. Some might even say… Sten-like?”

Yara smiled and elbowed him. “I’ll take that as a compliment, thanks.”

Alistair snickered, then sobered once more. “Look, you don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to, but… I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

Yara gave him a quizzical look, and he shrugged. “Well, you know. You licked his lamppost, but you’re here and he’s there…”

Another pang twisted her heart, and it was more painful this time. Yara took a deep breath, then smiled faintly. “It’s all right. We’re both where we’re meant to be.”

Alistair twisted his lips. “If you say so. Well, let’s get you settled in, and you can meet some of the other Wardens…”

She followed Alistair toward the former arl’s keep, which was now occupied by the Wardens, and she listened as Alistair told her about the lingering darkspawn activity and the other Wardens’ peculiarities and the changes they’d made to the keep since occupying it. And all the while, she imagined Sten watching her with his stern expression and his soft violet eyes. 

_I’m ready, vhenan,_ she thought. _I will fall into the tide._ And with that purposeful thought, she followed Alistair into the Grey Wardens’ new keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys: thank you for coming on this little journey with me, truly. I didn't expect much of anyone to read this, and you've all been incredible. I'm honoured and thrilled by your readership, and it's wonderful to know I'm not the only one who loves some Big Broody Boi Sten™. 
> 
> A number of you lovely people have alluded to a possible sequel reunion. I will say that I am sorely tempted, but I would need to see what DA4 has in mind for Arishok-Sten. (Also, if anyone has read Tevinter Nights... I'm kind of freaking out about the implications???) What I would suggest is this: subscribe to this fic, and if I do write a sequel to it, I'll add an endnote-chapter to this fic, so you'll get a notification saying that the sequel exists. 
> 
> In the meantime, please feel free to check out the rest of my works for more Dragon Age feels and smut and angst; [this Tumblr post](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/writingmasterpost) lists my work by ship and game, which is probably the easiest way to find what might strike your fancy.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr:](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) a humble servant to my loyal readers. Panahedan, friends. xoxoxo


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